Savin' Me
by StygianOmadaFan
Summary: Oliver Queen, a Bratva Kapitan with a implacable reputation, will face the greatest challenge in his violent life. A traitor looms over all what he holds dear, threatening to destroy it all. The only way to unveil the faceless menace is if Oliver trust the people closest to him. In special, trusting in Felicity... a babbling hacker genius who holds his heart captive.
1. Chapter 1

_**The following fic is part of the Olicity Secret Santa 2015.**_

 _ **I wrote it for Anna (AKA: Mimozka). She writes truly amazing AUs, which I adore to read, so I thought write one of my own for her. This is my first Bratva AU I've ever written, and it's based on a Nickelback song with the same title. I know it's not very holiday-ish, but it was what the muse wanted. It went in a little different direction from where I thought it would go, but I hope you like it.**_

 _ **I want to wish you all a happy holidays and a happy new year!**_

* * *

 **SAVIN' ME**

 _Felicity was in a clock shop. She was lost in the maze of thousands and thousands of clocks. Antique and modern, big and small, pristine or barely holding together. There were grandfather clocks, hourglasses, cuckoos, and digital, all kinds and sizes. Every time she passed in front of one, the clock chimed. When she walked by a really big long-case clock, the gong was so loud that made her jump_...

... and wake up.

She groaned when realized that the rings were not from a clock, not even her nightstand alarm, but from her landline phone. Someone was calling in the middle of the night. _Who calls at three in the morning?_ If it was some kid trying to get fun at other people's expense, namely: hers, she was going to be pissed. Grumbling, she got off the bed and walked, more asleep than awake.

"Hello. Who is it?"

"Felicity, it's me. Can I come up?"

She finished waking up when she recognized the voice her boyfriend. "Oliver," joy exploded inside her. He came to see her.

Usually, he called much earlier in the night to let her know that he might drop by later. However, he failed to do so that night. Not that she cared. It had been weeks since the last time they were together. She had missed him like crazy.

"I'm across the street, can I go upstairs for a minute?" he asked.

Felicity moved to the window, set aside the curtain, and looked down to the practically desolated street. There was a shadow next to the pay phone in the corner that she knew it had to be Oliver.

"Felicity, please."

"Yes, of course. I'll let you in."

He thanked her and hung up. It was when Felicity registered the grim tone he had had on his voice. Trepidation grew on her. Something had happened, and it wasn't good. Oliver had many secrets and she had learned to accept them. Oliver's job, as Bratva Kapitan, required of him to do unspeakable acts more often than not. Doings that he seldom spoke about with her. He told her that he didn't want to taint her with so much violence and death.

He had said to her many times that she was the light in his world; that she had saved him of succumbing to the darkness. She had a pure heart and he wanted to keep it that way.

His only desire was to protect her.

It was the same reason why they decided to keep their relationship private. Few knew of her existence. Oliver was afraid that his enemies could use her as a mean to hurt him.

Moreover, the enemies were closer than anyone could expect.

After she buzzed open the door downstairs, she went to the door of her apartment to release all the locks on it, except the chain, and opened it. The gap was big enough for her to watch the elevator at a few feet away in the corridor. As soon as she heard the bell announcing its arrival to her floor, she closed her door, unhooked the safety chain, and open the door again, wide open this time.

She expected to see Oliver walking down the hallway, with that hell-bent gait of his. It was a combination of masculinity, stubbornness, and elegance, which most people didn't possess. She suspected that he inherited it from one of his dead parents. That arrogance couldn't come from living in Moscow's streets as an orphan.

It wasn't the time to dwell on the past, though. She had a more pressing matter to attend. Oliver was standing by the elevator door; his shoulders were slumped forward and his hand was on the wall, as if he needed the support. He was soaked to head to toe; the storm outside was the culprit of that. His head was bowed, and he was taking deep breaths as if he had run as fast as he could for too long. His other hand was hidden inside his jacket, favoring his side.

"Oliver?"

Felicity voice was only a whisper, but he heard her. He looked up with a failed attempt of a smile on his lips, and started for her. Two steps later, he tripped.

Then, she saw the blood on his shirt.

"Oh, my God! Oliver, what happened to you?" she ran to him.

"I'm fine," he lied.

"You're wounded. You're _not_ fine," she chided, putting his arm around her shoulders, and wrapping hers around his waist to help him walk inside her apartment.

"This is nothing. I'll be fine."

Felicity gritted her teeth, annoyed by the characteristic lack of regard Oliver had for his own well-being. It wasn't the first time he knocked down the importance of his injuries. However, it wasn't the place or the moment to vent what she thought about it. Once he was inside, and she had patched him up, he was going to hear her.

After stopping just a moment by the door to put all her safety locks back on, Felicity took Oliver to her bathroom. She put down the lid of the toilet and urged him to sit on it. Grabbing a clean towel, she dried his short hair and his face. Then, she ordered him, "Remove your jacket and shirt."

Not waiting for him to obey, she turned around and took her first-aid kit out under the sink cabinet.

Oliver sighed. He knew he shouldn't have come to her home, but it was the only place he felt safe. After how his night had gone fucked up beyond all recognition, he needed to be some place where he knew nobody would stab him in the back while he was vulnerable. Felicity was his refuge. Being with her always brought him peace, as nothing or no one else ever had.

In the world he lived in there was nothing but violence, pain, and death. That's what he knew since he was a boy, living in the streets of Moscow. When he joined the Bratva, he truly believed that the brotherhood would give him that sense of family he missed since his parents were murdered. For a while, it was true, but the years, and knowledge of how things really worked, taught him different.

Until the day when he met a remarkable babbling blonde. The second he put his eyes on Felicity all changed. Being with her had changed him. He was no longer a cold-hearted man, who didn't care about others, or if he lived or died. Now, he knew that could be better than that. She was his home and the moments he shared with her were precious.

Now, she was mad at him.

Her stiff movements and squared shoulders were a big telling that she didn't want him there. The rictus of her rosy lips was the confirmation. Like if that wasn't enough, she hadn't kissed him.

Oh yes, she was furious.

Otherwise, she would have all over him kissing his lips, making up for all those weeks that they hadn't seen each other.

Definitely, going there it had been a mistake. "I better go-"

She whirled around and glared at him. "If you dare to leave that seat, you'll regret it, Oliver Queen."

He lifted his eyebrows at her warning. He was a feared member of one of most dangerous criminal organizations in the world. His presence only was enough to put a healthy dose of fear and respect in everyone. Not in her, though. Felicity treated him as if he was a common man. She gave him orders, which were expected to be followed without hesitation.

"And I told you to remove your clothes. What are you waiting for? Off, now."

Despite of the pain he was in, plus the guilt of have disturbed and enraged her, Oliver couldn't help to smirk. He always liked when she got all bossy with him. Her taking charge was always a thrill for him.

As careful as he could, he took off his leather jacket, then the tee. Felicity gasped when she saw the wound that was giving him so much grief. It burned like hell.

"Is that a shot wound?!"

"It just grazed me."

"Grazed you? It went- it went through you, Oliver!" Felicity looked the wound closely and discovered an exit wound on his back. "From a side to the other!" her words was full of concern, and anger barely contained, "You should be at a hospital. That needs stitches, at least! You could be bleeding internally."

The location of the wound was an inch below where his ribcage ended. It didn't seem to be as bad as Felicity was thinking. Miraculously, the bullet hadn't hurt any organ, just muscle and skin. He wasn't bleeding as much as before.

"No. No, hospital," Oliver emphasized.

"Why not?"

"Because. Would you drop the topic? Please?"

He reached for the first-aid kit, ignoring her drilling glare. The less she knew about it, the more protected she would be.

"Would you stay still, you stupid fool," she snapped at him. "The more you move, the more you bleed. I'm sure you've lost enough blood already. So, if you don't want to go a hospital, then stop moving!"

Her angry tirade was just a façade. Oliver knew that Felicity was tired and sleep-deprived. He woke her up at past three in the morning, and she always got cranky if she didn't rest enough. Also, she was worried about him, anxious about what had happened to him. Nevertheless, she always had put a brave face every time he appeared injured at her place or he told her about some fallout where he had been involved. She would soothe him, and make him feel better. But she had a gentle heart, which fluttered upset in every occasion.

Right there, her hands betrayed her. As she grabbed for gauze, her fingers trembled.

"Hey," he took her wrist gently, and pulled her closer to him. She resisted for a heartbeat, but then went to him. "I'm okay, really. It looks worse than it is. I can stitch myself."

His words and the soft caress with his thumb, where her pulse was stronger, made her relax a degree. She took a shaky breath, then another, and one more. Oliver hated the tears she was trying so hard to hold. He hated himself for being the cause of those tears. That wasn't what she deserved.

He knew he should leave her, give her the chance to be happy with someone else that didn't have so much shit on his back.

However, he was a selfish bastard. She was everything to him. He could endure all kinds of pains and sufferings, except not being with her. That would undo him in a million of pieces and turned him into the unmerciful person he was becoming when he met her. Much, much worse than that.

"Come here," he seduced her with the slightest tug to lean down to him. He caught her lips as soon as they were within his reach. It was an unhurried, soft kiss. A gentle nipping to reassure her that he was, in fact, okay. In her presence, he couldn't be any other way.

He lifted his free hand to cup her face as he deepened the kiss, but immediately regret it. It was the hand of his injured side and the movement hurt like hell. He couldn't care less for the pain it caused him, he was used to aches and bruises, but Felicity noticed his involuntary wince.

She gave him a peeved glared. "Let's finished patching you up, so I can get you into bed."

He grinned, thinking about what she was going to do to him once she put him there.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Queen. You aren't getting any of that tonight."

Half-hour later, he had lost another battle to Felicity. He attempted to leave after his wound had been taken care of, but his girl was adamant in not letting him go. He knew that every second he stated there, it was a second closer for his enemies to track him. Everyone who had accompanied him that night was dead. As the sole survivor, he became a loose end that his enemies needed to eliminate or their treacherous plans would be revealed.

Oliver was in bed. His side was throbbing badly, but the worst of it would pass soon, thanks to the painkillers Felicity had insisted him to take. He was waiting for her to finish cleaning the mess in her bathroom before joining him in bed.

Despite of his earlier thoughts, she had been right. That night he wasn't in conditions of doing any heavy physical activity. His hellish night was finally taking a toll on him, and the pills he had taken were helping to dilapidate the strength he had left.

It didn't matter, though. He only needed to have Felicity safe in her arms. To feel her soft, warm body against his to find the peace he sought. He smiled when she returned to the bedroom.

Patting the mattress, he said, "Come to bed, _милая_ _._ "

"You know I don't like you calling me 'honey' when I'm mad at you."

Oliver sighed. He had the hope for the conversation, or rather the scolding, coming his way would wait till the morning, but it turned out not to be the case. "Are you mad because... I came here?"

Felicity sat on the bed looking at him, and her legs crossed in front of her. Her eyes threw daggers at him. "No, I'm not mad about that. I'm glad that you did."

"Then why-?"

She huffed, "You seriously need to ask?" rolling her eyes, and exhaling sharply in frustration, she explained. "It ticks me off that you've always minimized your injuries. You think it makes you more manly or cute to my eyes. It doesn't! It only makes you look like an idiot!"

"It's not that, Felicity. I'm only trying to not worry you."

"Don't you think I worry more because I know you won't tell how really bad it is? I don't trust your word when you say it's nothing, because it might be a simple cut or bruise, or you're at two seconds to fall dead at my feet. And I rather to sin by being cautious than watching you die. Even when you're a stupid fool, I love you-"

"I love you, too."

"Shh! I'm talking," she took a deep breath and continued her tirade, "I know you only try to protect me, and I appreciate that, but I'm not made of crystal. I'm a lot tougher than I look."

Oliver knew she was. Felicity, as daughter of a single mom, learned to take care of herself at young age. She worked hard to get to where she was. That was why he tried to give her the best. If anyone in the world was worthy of the prime treatment, it was her.

"I can take anything, Oliver. Whether is you getting hurt, or the things you do. When we got together, I knew exactly in what I was getting into. I'm blonde, but not stupid. The girl of a Bratva Kapitan can't expect that the life of her man is going to be a fairy tale. My imagination is quite vivid, so, the picture in my head of what happened is, probably, a lot worse than the reality."

"You want me to tell you how I got shot," not a question but a statement.

"Yes, I want to know. But only if you trust me."

Oliver looked at her, trying to find a new argument against her claim, but he came up empty. Once she had implied that she was unworthy of his trust, she had won the argument. For Oliver, that was essential among them. It had to be complete and absolute trust in their relationship. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead.

He didn't know where to begin.

Apparently, she sensed his troubled thoughts. "Would you tell me who shot you?"

"There's a new group trying to take territory from the brotherhood. We found where some of those stupid sonabitches were. Things didn't go as I thought they would."

Felicity eyes widened in surprise. "Fighting territory with the Bratva? Are they lost their ever-loving minds?"

"They have a death wish, that's for sure. But..."

"But, what?"

Oliver pursed his lips. His instinct was to measure his words with a teaspoon, but Felicity had asked him the whole truth. "We- _I_ got more pressing concerns than that. There is a traitor in our midst... or more than one, I'm not sure."

"A traitor? You know who?"

Shaking his head, he said softly, "No, I don't know... yet. I'm thinking that's someone with a high rank."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because tonight... I was sent to an ambush. There were a lot more men than what I was told. They had prepared a full execution assault."

"WHAT?! Oh, my God, Oliver!"

He gritted his teeth, watching Felicity's reaction. That was why he didn't want to tell her. He could see in her eyes the fear, the trepidation, inside. He almost could see the cogwheels of her brain turning as she sought for a way to keep him safe. She was looking for a way to help him. But in the process, she would expose herself to his enemies, that wouldn't hesitate in harm her, just to get back at him.

"Don't worry, hon."

"How can I not to, Oliver?! Someone close to you wants you dead, and you have no idea who it is! Maybe I could dig in a bit, and see if I-"

"Don't you dare, Felicity," he sat up, ignoring the pain at his side, and looked right into her eyes. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. I know you're only trying to help. But by using your hacking skills, you're going to put a bull's eye on your back. I can't allow that. I won't let you do this."

She lifted and eyebrow, "Excuse me? Who are you, to _let_ me do something or not?"

"I'm your boyfriend... your man!"

Oliver fell back to the bed, huffing and biting back a groan of pain.

"So?!" Felicity snapped back. "I'm my own person. I decided what to do. It's my life, my choice."

"Felicity..." the marked pronunciation of each syllable of her name should've told her that Oliver's patience was running thin. "Don't do it."

"Oliver," she climbed off the bed and stood with her legs slightly apart and her arms akimbo, "You can't order me like one of your men. I'm the woman you love; therefore you'll respect the decisions I make, like I respect yours."

"You didn't respect my decision to keep from you what happened to me tonight."

"Nuh-uh. You're wrong. I gave the choice to tell me or not. If you hadn't I wouldn't have liked it, but it would have been your decision and I'd have respected it."

She was right, as usual. _Dammit!_

"Can we leave this discussion for the morning? I have not enough energy to fight anymore." It was his best exit without conceding the victory.

Her eyes softened. "Sorry, I should have until you were rested to ask anything."

He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You needed to get it out of your chest," he gave her a small smile while offering a hand for her to take. "Let me hold you."

They both needed to be close.

She bit her lip. "I don't know. Your wound..."

"It's okay. I need to hold you, Felicity. Please."

She finally gave in, and got into bed again. After turning off the lamp on the nightstand, Felicity cuddled next to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. However, she wasn't close enough for Oliver's liking. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him.

Her soft skin, her sweet scent, and her warmth were all he needed to mitigate the trouble of his life. Right there, in that bed, seemed like nothing could get to him. Not the violence ever-present in his days, nor the threat of an unknown enemy... not even the bitter memories of a rough childhood that still haunted him in his adulthood.

She was the balm his soul needed. The light that his black heart desperately required to keep beating.

* * *

 **AN** _: Sinceriously, if you haven't read Anna's work, you better go to her profile as Mimozka and be amazed by her talent. You won't regret it *winks*_


	2. Chapter 2

_My dearies!_

 _Hope you're ready for a long note. Bear with me._

 _First, how 2016 is treating you so far? I hope much better than 2015. I can't complain tbh. At least not as a fanfic writer. I never thought this fic would have such great response from you guys. So, here I am pleasing all those who demanded —ugh! That sounded so harsh— let's say… suggested; yes, that sounds better._

 _What I was saying? Oh yeah, I'm pleasing all those who_ suggested _that I should continue the story. Here's the second chapter. I hope you like it as much as the first one, if not more._

 _Second, now that I'm continuing this fic I'm obliged to elevate the rating and put a warning. This won't be a story for kids anymore *winks* So, now you can expect violence. But most of all, there will be some smut! I know how you all love that._

 _Third, I got to tell that two or three known characters will have their names in Russian! They sound so much cooler. Don't worry; I'll be perfectly clear who they are once they appear. There's none in this chapter, but I just want you to know._

 _Fourth, I know most Bratva AU usually end Oliver & Co., leaving the brotherhood, but so far, I'm not seeing that in my story. I'm not saying it won't happen, 'cause it could, or that the fic won't have a happy ending, 'cause oh yes! It's going to have one! All my stories have their happily ever after. But I want to give a more grayish morality to all the characters. For example, Felicity is with Oliver knowing he's bratva, and although he tries to keep her away from what that means, she isn't naïve or care that much about it._

 _Fifth, if you ask me for a posting schedule *grimace* I can't give you one, sorry. I'm awful keeping my promises, about when I'm going to post a new chapter; some of you know this. I'm the worst, I know! All I can promise —and it's the only promise I always keep— is that eventually I'll end it. It can take me months, a year, or more, but you'll read the end._

 _The good news is that you can help me with this. You can help to keep me motivated. You can suggest ideas for coming chapters; tell me anything you want to happen in the story. You can also tell me about songs that could be used as inspiration (which my muse love to have). The right song can send me into a writing frenzy. But if you don't have any of that, don't worry. Pestering me on Tumblr as_ **stygian-omada-fan** , _and on Twitter as_ **Olicity_Fics** _for a new chapter, also helps. Sinceriously, don't be shy. Bug me! I give you my permission._

 _If you don't want to harass me, fine. I got the thing for you. Leave me reviews in every chapter. Tell me what did you like or what you didn't. Those little words feed my soul. Truly. Favorites and follows are awesome, too._

 _Ninth? Tenth? I lost count, I told you it was a long note hahaha. Anyway, here's chapter 2!_

 _Happy reading!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

Oliver fell asleep just a few seconds later after saying each other good night the night before. Wishing not disturbing him, Felicity left his side —after some struggle to get free from his embrace, which was deceivingly strong in spite of his weakened state—, and took her tablet and put herself to work. She spent the rest of the unholy hour of the morning investigating some info about Bratva men. She found out some interesting facts.

Sensing movement in her bed, she turned her head. Her boyfriend was stirring in bed, "What are you doing up?" Oliver grumbled, not completely awake yet.

"Some digging."

That made him snap his eyes open and lean up on his elbows. His face was dour, displeasure evident in the tight line of his lips and the tightness of his jaw, "I know I have no saying in what you do, but scares the heck out of me that somebody come to hurt you, just 'cause you got involved in my problems."

Felicity fought against disappointment. Her heart broke a little, every time Oliver said things like that to her. She had no doubt that he loved her, but it hurt her that he couldn't see that all she wanted was to share the good and the bad things with him. She wanted to ease some of the weight of the life he led off his shoulder. After almost a year together, he still had walls around him to keep her at a safe distance. She looked up at him, "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do."

She beamed satisfied. "Then, have faith in that I know what I'm doing. I'm smart enough to not get caught snooping around."

"But what if—"

" _Trust_ me."

"Fine," by his tone, Felicity knew he was anything but. At least, he was resigned to her involvement. "Anything drew your attention?"

"A few things."

"Like?" he asked, immediately on the edge.

She grinned playfully, "Like... finding out how _really_ loaded my boyfriend is. To be honest, Oliver, I imagined you had money, but not that you're a one-percenter. Now I won't feel guilty every time you give me diamonds. In fact, I'll encourage you to give me more. Not only diamonds; I don't mind rubies, emeralds, sapphires. Those are great, too. Truly, I'm not picky. I'm thinking to charge you for every visit you do to me."

That made him chuckle, and Felicity breathed easy. She achieved what she wanted, to lighten his mood. Setting her tablet aside, she went to him, and sat on the bed edge, "How are you feeling? And don't say..."

"I'm fine."

"... fine," she glared at him. "Oliver..."

"I'll be okay in a couple of days," he amended. "Promise."

Felicity nodded, somewhat satisfied by his word. He never broke a promise he made to her before. She framed his face and leaned over to kiss his forehead. As soon she touch his skin, she noticed he was warmer than normal. "For that, we need to get your fever down. You rest, while I go to the drug store for some medicine for you."

"I can't stay, Felicity. I..." he tried to sit up, and groaned, "I gotta go."

Felicity breathed in deep and exhaled slowly, seeking for patience. "Oliver, my love," she pushed him down to bed again, "you're in no condition to go anywhere yet. You were shot just a few hours ago. Remember that?"

"I need to speak with my boss."

"Call and tell him what happened. He's going to understand, right?"

"Can't call him, Felicity."

"Why not?"

He exhaled sharply, "'Cause it's not wise to make excuses to the Parkhan. Besides, if I don't show up, all the suspicions will fall on me. It wouldn't be strange that whoever who tried to kill me isn't wasting the opportunity to incriminate me as the traitor. I need to speak with Anatoli, face to face."

"Do you think that's prudent? If what you say is true, that you're being pointed as a rat, then he could kill you on sight."

"It's a risk I need to take, or the entire brotherhood will be over my head. If I talk to him, he will believe me; I know he will. Anatoli is the only one who can stop the manhunt."

Felicity wanted to argue that, but Oliver was vastly more versed than she was, in how the brotherhood worked. All she wanted was to keep him safe, but she knew it was impossible. Sooner or later, the Bratva would caught upon them. She had asked him trust in her the night before. It was time for her to return the gesture. She had to trust that he knew what he was doing.

"At least, would you wait until I bring you the medicine? 30 minutes more won't be much of a difference, right?" Oliver's face was telling her that wouldn't give her that, until she begged, "Please."

"Okay," taking her hand, he laid a kiss on her knuckles. "I'll wait until you come back from the drug store. But be careful out there. If you see a stranger following you, call me. Then get lost in a crowd—"

"Shh," Felicity caressed the tattoo on his chest, to ease his growing anxiety. "Nobody will follow me. But I'll be careful and return as soon as I can. Promise." She leaned down and kissed first his forehead, and then his lips. "Sleep some more. You need to recharge your batteries. I'll be back before you know it."

He hummed, smiled softly, and closed his eyes. When Oliver didn't put a fight, it confirmed her what she already knew. He was feeling much worse than he was letting on. Returning from the pharmacy, she would try one more time to convince him to stay. Although, she didn't hold much hope in succeeding. However, she had to try.

When she stood up, he pulled her to a stop. The light tug on her hand made her pause and look back at him. His blue eyes were barely open, "Love you," he mumbled.

Before she could reply, he succumbed to sleepiness.

Even though she hated the circumstances, Felicity couldn't help feeling pleasure in taking care of Oliver. He was such self-sufficient person, that rarely he allowed any other to appease his needs. It took several months until he finally was comfortable enough to stay all night with her. She didn't take it personally. For the little he had told her about his life, Felicity knew that trust didn't come easy to him. He always expected the betrayal of those around him.

His life was far from simple. All she could do was prove him with actions that he could trust her with his life. She would never harm him in any way. That he could come to her when he wanted to get away from his grueling life. She was his safest place to hide.

Watching Oliver on her bed, his vulnerable state hit her. The crumb of fear for him that was always stuck in her chest grew fast. She didn't know what she could do to spare him of the danger he was in. She only could do certain amount of magic with computers against guns and goons.

That's was a battle that she could leave for later. Now, she needed to fight a more tangible and beatable enemy. She needed antipyretic to subdue the fever. She pulled the comforter up, covering his chest and caressed his head, before she went out to get what he needed.

 **# # # # # #**

John Diggle thanked the almighty that his morning seemed to be improving. He hoped it was. All started the night before. The evening hadn't started that bad. He had a scare, but not necessarily of the unpleasant kind. His nine-months-pregnant wife, Lyla, went into false labor. For a few hours, they thought that they were finally meeting their first-born son. It seemed the boy had his own plans and he didn't want to be born yet.

That told John his son was going to be just like his mother, strong-willed and tenacious.

After going back home with no baby in arms, the night truly worsened. He slept less than two hours when a call woke him up. It was well past four in the morning when Roy told him that several of the men were dead and Oliver was missing. He didn't need to be a genius to know what most of the men were thinking. It didn't look good when an entire unit of brothers were dead except one, who was nowhere to be found.

That looked like betrayal. And more when there were some people eager to spread false rumors. Those who envy Oliver's position and the regard the Parkhan had for him were always taking every opportunity to taint his reputation.

There's nothing more for the people that Oliver was truly a traitor.

From any other, John would be thinking the same. But Oliver wasn't any man. Since John met the man, he always had a deep sense of honor. Every time Oliver had a trouble with anyone, it was solved openly. He was never prone to make a foul play. Diggle doubted that his Kapitan would change his ways now.

If he did, then he probably had a very good reason for it.

Besides, Oliver would never betray the Parkhan. The relationship between Knyaznev and Queen went beyond the boss and his subordinate. John dared to say that the bond linking both men was deeper and stronger than the simple sense of duty to the brotherhood. They had a true friendship and respect for each other. Diggle was sure that Oliver saw a father figure in Anatoli, as much as he saw a brother in John.

Having lost his family at a young age, Oliver filled that void, accepting people that life sent his way. He learned the hard way that not everybody deserved that privilege, but eventually, Oliver gathered a motley crew that became family. John was humbled being part of it. For long, there was something still missing in the Kapitan's life. John thought he knew what it was, but Oliver dismissed his wisdom. That changed several months back when the stubborn man met a sweet blonde called Felicity.

It was the same woman that Diggle was following now. She was striding on the sidewalk across the street. She was walking with anxiety. The haste in her pace was evident.

John crossed the street, almost catching up with her. When she turned at the corner and entered into a drug store, he fell in line behind her. The store was conveniently empty, except for the clerk. He kept his distance until she stopped in an aisle to pick up some items. Getting closer with caution, he spoke in Russian, " _Excuse me, can you help me?_ "

She pivoted around gasping in surprise, her eyes were wary. " _I— I can't, sorry. I'm in a hurry_ ," she stuttered in the same language. However, it had a heavy American accent. " _But I'm sure the clerk should be able to help you._ "

She turned her back to him and walked away. Before she took the second step, Diggle grabbed her arm, jarred her to a halt, and urged her to face him. " _I'm sorry that I insist, but I'm looking for my friend_."

Her wariness became in evident hard-cold terror. John could see it in her intelligent eyes and could perceive the vibrating tension in her body. It was obvious that he didn't need to say Oliver's name. She had guessed right about who was John referring to. That gave him hope. Unlike most of Bratva men, he suspected that Oliver's disappearance might have been under duress. The attackers could have overpowered and taken him with nasty intentions.

Yet, there was another possibility. One that looked accurate by the reaction of the woman. He switched to English this time, "Oliver Queen, have you talked or seen him in the last day?"

"Let me go!" Felicity pulled herself free from his grasp. "I don't know who you're talking about. I don't know your friend, sorry," she back away in the direction of the exit. "Stay away from me or I'm calling the police," she said when John attempted to follow her.

There was no way she was going to leave until he knew what he wanted to know. Diggle regretted scaring her, he knew he was, but finding out what had happened to Oliver was his priority, "I just want to help him, Felicity. I need to know where he is, and if he's okay."

She paused, looking even more scared than before, "How do you— how do you know my name?"

"Oliver told me. You are all he talks about."

For a fraction of a second, Felicity's expression softened. For John, it was clear as crystal that Oliver's feelings were completely reciprocated by Felicity. She had the same sappy face that Oliver made every time he talked about her. Yet, the lovesick moment passed soon. Felicity schooled her facial expression and squared her shoulders. "You're confusing me with another person."

Paying no heed to her evasive, John urged on, "I'm not, and I'm sure your boyfriend came to see you in the middle of the night, didn't he? Maybe with a bruise or two." Felicity betrayed herself trying to hide a new gauze package she was holding in her hand.

Taking a step closer to her, John moved in a non-threatening way. "Please, Felicity. If he's hurt, I can help."

"How do I know if you're lying to me? Maybe you want to kill him."

"If I'd want that I'd have forced you at gunpoint to take me to... your place, I'm guessing. There's where he is, right? There's not much you could've done if I'd have used more persuasive ways. You have to trust me."

In other circumstances, John would've praised her proper level of distrust of strangers, but at the moment, it was starting to irritate him. At least, she hadn't run, yet. Instead, she chewed her lip, sizing John with her keen stare.

"If you even touch one single hair on his head, your gun won't be enough to stop me."

A bold threat, especially given the petite and delicate of the shape of her body. Diggle had serious doubts that she could take him down. But he had to admire the ferocity of her promise. That was one more demonstration of how deep were her feelings for Oliver.

"On my soon-to-be-born child's life," he swore, "I'm on his side, Felicity. I don't want to kill him; I'd give my life for his."

"You're one of his men."

"Yes, I am. Would you now take to him, please?"

After one more moment of hesitation, she finally nodded. She would take him to her place, "But first..." she quickly told him about Oliver and the shape he had arrived to her apartment. That's why she was in the drug store, restocking her first-aid supplies, and buying meds for him.

She asked him to go to the pharmacist for something for the fever, while she was going through the store taking the other things she needed to buy. John called Dr. Merlyn; to be sure, that he was getting the right medicine. Diggle had some medical training for emergencies, but his knowledge didn't go too far for more advance situations. How things were, it was a risk to call Tommy, but he trusted the doctor.

"John? Tell me that you found him," the edge of the voice told how worried Tommy was for his friend. "Is he okay?"

"Yes, I found him. But he's been better. That's why I'm calling. Need a consult, doc."

Immediately, Tommy went all business-like, "What we got?"

He didn't leave any detail out of what Felicity had told him. The wound, how it was treated, and what it was the pressing matter, the fever.

"Needs to take ampicillin, one every six hours, and bring him to me to check him out... even if he protest," both knew he would.

 _Get Oliver Queen to the doctor... Oh, what a delight_ , John thought with heavy sarcasm. Hell would freeze over first before that happens. "Noted, and will do my best."

Five minutes later, John walked out the store, with Felicity leading the way and new first aid supplies, and the antibiotics that Oliver needed to take. Felicity fidgeted the whole way back to where she lived. She murmured unintelligible words, and cast furtive looks at John, every few minutes. It seemed that she was recriminating herself and swallowing words she wanted to say to John. In a couple of occasions Diggle was sure she was going to let out all that she had stuck in her throat, but backed down in the last second.

When the blonde was about to open the door to enter the building, she hesitated. Diggle put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, "Felicity, I know you have no reason to trust me and I admire the way you're trying to protect him, but we're wasting time. I don't know if Oliver told you what happened to him last night, but he's in danger."

"They're already looking for him."

Not a question, but a statement, yet Diggle answered anyway, "Yes, and the longer he stays here, the more danger he is in. So are you; and I know for a fact that he doesn't want you to be hurt."

"Okay," she said, finally opening the door. They traveled four floors up in the elevator, and walked through the hallway to get to the second unit on the left. Opening the door, she whispered, "He was sleeping when I left, he might be still."

Entering into the place, John noticed that the apartment wasn't too big. The kitchen, narrow and bright, was on the right close to the main door. For what he could see, it had only the essential, a small kitchen, a sink, a couple of cupboards, and small refrigerator. There was no much room for anything else.

In the living room, there was a three-seat sofa, an armchair, and a coffee table, that apparently also served as a dinner table. Across the room, there was the corridor that took to the main and second bedrooms, and the bathroom.

When Felicity opened the door of her bedroom, hell broke loose. It happened all so fast. John didn't have the chance to register the empty bed, when someone shoved him against the wall in the hallway. He hit it so hard that the air escaped his lungs. Before he could take a new breath, or even attempt to seize his gun that he carried on his waist, he had a big kitchen knife against his throat.

"Move and you're dead."

* * *

 **AN:** _Oh! I forget to tell you. I might leave you in cliffhanger like this quite often. I should say I'm sorry. But guess what? I am not! What better way to make you guys come back for more? You can't blame me for trying that, right. *smiles and bats eyelashes*_


	3. Chapter 3

_My lovelies!_

 _Here I bring you a new chapter. It turned out to be more angsty in the beginning than I intended, but later there's a bit of humor that I wasn't expecting, so I guess that one balance the other. I hope you like it._

 _Before I leave you to the reading, I have to tell you that it's amazing the feedback you've been giving me. You guys rock! Can't believe how many people like this fic. Thank you so muchi!_

 _Now, here it is Chapter 3._

 _Happy reading!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

Oliver knew he was dreaming, and yet he wasn't able to pull himself out of it. He had the same dream for years, so many times that he lost count. He didn't know how many nights he woke up drenched in sweat and screaming, just because of it. And it wasn't even a dream; it was the memory of the worst day of his life. He was reliving the moment when he lost everything. The event unfolded painfully before his eyes once more, with nothing he could do to stop it.

It was like if he was watching a movie. He was a spectator and a participant at the same time. The 28-year-old man, he was now, watched the 9-year-old boy, he had been, sitting between his parents, on the back seat of a luxurious Bentley. He remembered that he tuned out from the terse conversation between his mom and dad, which it wasn't the first one he witnessed in the last year. He had all his undivided attention on a game he was playing. He only paused Super Mario, and pulled his eyes from the tiny screen of the Game Boy on his hands, when his dad, Robert, patted his leg, demanding him to set the focus on him.

"You like it here, don't you, son? You had fun during the vacations."

Oliver had been excited three months back when, unexpectedly, Robert said they'd spend the summer abroad, to be more precise on Moscow. At first instance, it sounded exotic and interesting. It had been for the most part. Oliver made some new friends, visited places he never had been, and was learning a new language. But also, it had been a little disappointing.

He expected his dad to spend more time with him, now that he was away from the office at QC. But he hadn't. Instead, Robert barely spent time with the family; he was busier than ever. Oliver felt a bit lonely. His mom, Moira, was also very busy taking care of Oliver's baby sister, Thea. He adored his sister, but her being a baby, who all what she did was sleep, eat, and cry, there was no much he could do to have fun with her.

His only solace had been his new friends, Pabiyan and Nikolai. The time he spent with them had been fun. The two boys made their best effort to hurdle the language barrier and taught him the Russian way to do things.

Moira hadn't been too happy with the newly forged friendship. She said that those children were not good enough to be acquaintances of her son. Robert dismissed his wife's words. He was glad that the boys were getting along. _That friendship could be beneficial in the future, Moira_ , he had said.

"What would you say if we stay living here, in Russia?" Robert asked his son. "Would you like that?"

"I don't know. What about school? My friends?" Oliver wondered. He loved his life in Star City.

"You can go to the same school as Niko and Pabiyan. They are your friends, right?"

"I guess," he said, shrugging with one shoulder.

"There you go. You'll be fine, Ollie. You'll feel like home and you'll have more new friends."

Something was telling to the kid that that wouldn't be true. Oliver's old-self pitied the younger version of himself. The boy had no idea how right he was. Or how fast it would be a fact.

Younger Oliver turned to see his mom. She was looking out the window, absentmindedly. By the stiffness of her body, the son knew that his mother wasn't happy. Maybe she didn't want to live there, he thought. "Mom," Oliver whispered, tentatively. "You okay?

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm fine," she reassured him, with a sad smile on her lips.

"You want to live here?"

Moira lifted his eyes from the face of her son to look at her husband, "Moscow is a lovely city," she said. At the age of nine, Oliver easily overlooked the underlying tension in her words, but after reliving the moment, so many times, as an adult, he was completely aware of the resentment underneath.

It took Oliver a good decade to understand finally the reason behind it. He found out why Robert had the idea of taking the family to Russia so hastily, and later deciding to stay. It never was about family vacations, or teaching his son a new culture. It was for a selfish reason. He was escaping from justice. He fled just before he was apprehended. Americans authorities had been investigating him for months. The FBI suspected he was using the family company, Queen Consolidated, for money laundering; that he had a strong connection with the Bratva.

They were correct, but their accusations didn't matter. Not after what happened to the Queens in the next five minutes.

The car in which they were traveling violently skidded to a halt. A black SUV with tinted windows had cut in on the street. A second later, another two similar vehicles came between them and the escape route in the back. They were surrounded. At least eight men got out of the SUVs and pointed at the car with their semi-automatic guns, ready to pull the trigger.

In Russian, Robert barked orders to the driver and the bodyguard who were accompanying them. Shock and his skimpy knowledge of the language didn't let the younger Oliver to catch the meaning of the words. Even now, that his Russian was as good as any native speaker, he couldn't decipher what his dad said. His memory only provided him an unintelligible speech.

The security detail went into action; they got out of the car and opened fire against the men surrounding them.

An immediate macabre symphony of yelling, grunts, and detonations filled the air. On instinct, his mother protected Oliver with her body when the rain of bullets sank into the car. Robert covered both of them. The echoes of the bullets and the sound of the windows shattering was terrifying. The glass couldn't hold against the merciless attack of lead. The bodyguards didn't have better luck, either. Greatly outnumbered, their best effort to remain alive and protect the family to their charge was in vain.

"Moira, you got to go. I'll buy you some time," his father said, taking out a gun that Oliver never knew his dad had until that moment. He jumped at the sound of Robert loading the gun like an expert. "You and Ollie run as fast as you can."

"Robert, no. You-"

"Moira," he cut off the broken and unspoken plea of his wife. "This is the best chance that we got. On the count of three, I want you to open the door and run to the alley; don't stop for anything. I'll cover you."

The same cry of denial came out of both young and grown-up Oliver. As a boy, he suspected what would be the fate of his father after that. But as an adult, he knew it for sure. And even when he knew he couldn't change the past, he couldn't suppress the deep and agonizing need to try to stop it.

No amount of screaming, or attempts of making his parents or himself to see him was enough to stop the inevitable. He watched his mom giving up and obliging with a crushing reluctance to his father's suggestion. "I'll be right behind you," Robert promised them. A vow that mother and son knew wouldn't be kept. "One."

"Dad, no!"

The plea of a 9-year-old did nothing to deter his father's determination, "Two."

"Dad, please!" Oliver cried, trying to get hold onto his father. He hated the tears rolling down on his face. He wasn't a baby anymore, but couldn't help them. The more he tried to embrace his dad, the further Moira pulled him away.

"It's going to be okay, son. You'll be just fine. Go with your mother, and take care of Thea," his father told him. "Do as I say, and remember that I love you." Robert looked up to his wife "I love you all."

"Robert..." Moira tried again. She had lost her usual circumspect demeanor as emotions overwhelmed her.

"Think about Ollie and Thea," Robert implored Moira, and then he put his forehead on hers. "I love you," Robert whispered. They share a silent moment, in which husband and wife summoned the courage they needed to do what they had to, "Go, Moira."

"Love you," Moira said, brokenly, before taking Oliver out the car with her. He resisted, but his mom dragged him out the danger as fast as she could, and dodging the shower of projectiles coming at them. At the same time, Robert exited on the other side of the car, firing his gun. It didn't take long for the runaways to hear Robert grunting in pain when bullets hit him.

Another round of bullets was fired, followed by a short pause, and then ending with a single deafening shot.

After that, it all went silent.

"DAD!"

Moira was barely capable to hold her son when Oliver tried to get back to Robert, "Sweetheart, no!" but she didn't have any trouble to force him to keep running, once he realized that two of the men who had killed his father were now running toward them. The block in distance that mother and son had over the assassins shortened faster than anyone could think.

As with his father, Oliver watched his mother being killed. One moment she was running by his side, and the next, she was on the floor bleeding out.

"Run, Oliver," she wheezed out. "Run."

But he didn't. He couldn't. Not watching his mom dying, choking with her own blood, "Mom!"

The wheezing of her breathing became more labored, superficial. She watched him right in the eyes, and mouthed, "I love you," before the light of life extinguished from her eyes.

Crying, Oliver shook his mother, as hard as he could. He didn't know what else to do. He needed his dad, he needed his mom, and now he had neither. He was all alone. "Please, don't leave me!" pain, anger, and sorrow ran through his veins, like a venomous elixir morphing the core of his young soul and mind.

It was all consuming. Nothing else mattered. It was so potent, that gave him the strength of a grown man. So, when someone seized his shoulder, a dam containing his unpolluted rage broke inside him. He turned to the stranger and threw a rain of punches over him. In spite that the guy had twice his height and thrice his weight, Oliver managed to send him off balance.

He kept punching until the second guy grabbed him from behind and pulled him away. He fell down unceremoniously. Ignoring the pain of his elbows scraping against the filthy floor, he was on his feet in the next heartbeat. He didn't care that the men had big guns. Oliver was beyond all survival instinct. In its place, there was a reckless audacity.

In the back of his mind, recognition hit. There was something familiar about those men. Oliver knew them. Yet, his anger didn't let him dwell on that fact. "Want to kill me? Then kill me!" he dared the men, with an acrimony he never knew until that night. Thicker than most people had to know in their entire lives. His hands were balled in tight fists, aching for delivering the same pain that was splintering his gut.

The assassins accepted the challenge with a sly smile. The bigger of the two men, the one Oliver beat before, raised his gun aiming to the kid's head, and fired.

Oliver woke up, bolting up into sitting position. At the moment he did, the pain on his left side took his breath away, and his pounding head made him nauseous. For one second, he thought he was back in that dark alley where he was left for dead when he was nine. By reflex, he lifted the right hand to his head, looking for a bleeding wound. The only thing he found was an old scar hidden under his hair.

He ventured to open his eyes, and breathed easy recognizing where he was. And then, he remembered why he was there. He was safe... for the moment. However, he knew he couldn't stay much longer at Felicity's place. He was endangering them both.

If only the room would stop spinning, he'd get out of bed and leave. Another thing keeping him there was the promise he made to stay until his girlfriend came back. He wasn't sure how long she had been away, "Felicity? Are you here?"

He groaned when all he got was silence. Why wasn't she there? Shouldn't she be back already? He had no idea if he only slept a few minutes or a few hours. It was futile to check the clock, because he never saw the time when she left. So, he had no reference to determinate if she was taking too long. Having lost track of time disconcerted and irritated him. He prided himself of always being aware of everything that happened around him, every detail, every seemly insignificant minutia. He always had his senses in high alert. He knew that even the smallest peculiarity could be a deciding factor between surviving and getting killed.

Not wanting to push his luck even more than he already had, he resolved not to wait; he had to go. Regretting let Felicity down by breaking the promise he made her, Oliver wrestled himself out of bed. It proved to be more difficult than he thought. He was weaker as a newborn; the world hadn't stopped spinning around him, and constant chills traveled through him even when he felt he was on fire. In an impressive display of willpower, he went to the bathroom. His unsteady wobble forced him to lean on every furniture and walls within his reach to remain upright.

Five minutes later, he swayed out the bathroom with the mission to search for his clothes. His leather jacket was put over the back of the chair by the window and his shoes nearby; his pants were in the laundry basket; and his shirt was nowhere to be seen, presumably in the trash. But that was okay; he had a few more clothes in Felicity's closet.

Getting dressed, presented to be a challenge that left him shaking with exhaustion and pain. Oliver started to reconsider his decision of leaving. If a simple task, like putting his pants and shirt on, left him with no energy and incredibly sore, how he would get while walking around the city? He needed to be, but he knew he wasn't at the top of his game.

Ultimately, he needed to do what would keep him alive and Felicity safe. He couldn't start second-guessing now what he knew was the only way to do that. He was grabbing his jacket to put it on before leaving, when he caught out of the corner of his eye a woman through the window, who looked like Felicity, walking down on the street with a man by her side. A man he knew very well.

"Fuck!"

He never thought that John would be joining the hunt for him. He considered him a friend... part of his family, a true brother. It pained him that Diggle had so little faith in him. Naturally, he was the first to locate Oliver. How could he not? He knew Oliver, better than anyone else did, Felicity being the only exception to that rule. Oliver confided John things that he didn't dare to speak to anyone else.

Oliver felt like a fool, but most of all, betrayed. John was one of three people who knew about Felicity. That's how he had gotten so fast to Oliver's hideout. Anger and fear sent a burst of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The confrontation with Diggle wasn't going to be pretty, and even if he didn't want to fight his friend, he would. He had no other choice.

Oliver sprang into action. He left the coat forgotten and rushed to the kitchen. He needed to find something quickly that he could use to defend himself and Felicity. His weapons of choice, his Beretta and his Makarov 9mm, weren't much of service at the moment. He ran out of ammunitions the previous night. A hand-to-hand combat wasn't the best choice in his current shaky state. And much less, with Diggle's experience in combat from his military background.

All he had left was to find a knife in the kitchen, and make a surprise attack, before John could neutralize him.

He dragged himself back to Felicity's room and waited. And then some more. The wait in the shadows, being ready to pounce in the moment John was in his reach, was slowly consuming the boost of energy that adrenaline gave him. He could feel how dizziness was setting in again, and the edges of his sight were darkening.

Soon he would be an easy target, passed out cold on the floor.

Thankfully, it didn't come to that. Oliver heard Felicity opening the front door of the apartment. The clock ticked by just a few more seconds, his body electrified by the presence of a potential enemy. He didn't think. He just acted in the moment that the room door was opened. He bypassed Felicity's petite figure and charged against John, holding him pinned against the wall with the blade on his neck.

"Move and you're dead."

The threat was barely a whisper, but it weighted more, than if it had been shouted. Oliver's attention was fixed on Diggle's eyes. They both knew each other, and could read one another pretty well. Oliver didn't need to watch John's hands to know what he intended to do. And Diggle should know that Oliver had every intention to fulfill his promise, if he made the mistake of dismissing it.

"Whoa! Easy, man," said Dig, without moving a single muscle of his body.

"Oh, my God! Oliver, what are you doing?!"

Oliver ignored Felicity's scandalized question, focusing only on the man he had pinned against the wall, "Why are you here? Did you tell the others where to find me?!"

Diggle deadpanned, "You think I'm here to what... kill you? You seriously think I'd sell you out, after all what we've been through the last five years."

He really wanted to think that his friend was there to help him. It was John, after all. But if life had taught Oliver something, it was always expecting the stab in his back. Even from the closest people to him. He learned it in the hard way.

"Oliver," Felicity's gentle voice, and her even more soothing touch on his biceps, pulled him out an inch from the survival mode in which he was, "It's okay. Let him go. He came to help you."

"How do you know?" he asked her, not backing down in his position. The moment he did, he knew John wouldn't waste the chance to rout him. He couldn't let the man know how really weak he was, or how fast was his stamina dropping. "He fooled you, Felicity."

She put more pressure on his arm, which compelled him to drag his gaze to her shining blue eyes, "I trust him, okay. Drop the knife, please."

The compulsion to do what he said was strong. He always had been weak when it came to deny her anything. And she knew it. Yet, he didn't dare to move a single inch. He was locked into position. His and Felicity's lives depended on it.

"Do what your woman says before you collapse," John warned. "And don't fool yourself, man. You know that in the conditions that you are, I'd have you on the floor in a heartbeat, if I wanted to. I'm not here to kill you, but I might, if you don't stop being a stubborn asshat."

This time, Felicity didn't let him decide anything, she simply grabbed the wrist of the hand in which he had the knife, and pulled it away from John's neck. The mere act of giving in to Felicity's direction squeezed out the little strength he had left. One second he was aware of the world, and the next he was succumbing to the darkness.

Oliver came awake to the odd sensation of something cool on his forehead. For a moment, the memory failed him, he didn't know what had happened to him, until he blinked open his eyes and saw Felicity sitting next to him in bed. Everything came flooding back to him... getting shot; going to Felicity's; attacking Diggle. He tried to sit up, but the world spun around him and remembered vaguely having swooned in the hallway.

"Hey, take it easy," Felicity whispered, pushing him back to bed. The sweet smile on her lips didn't masked the worry in her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Just looking at his girlfriend, her left eyebrow up in an open challenge to lie to her, Oliver knew that the 'I'm fine' on the tip of his tongue wasn't going to satisfy her. Passing out in the corridor didn't help his case, either. Knowing what the best was for him, he opted for telling the truth, "As bad as I look, probably."

She gasped, "Oh dear Google! You're worse than I thought. You actually told me how bad you feel," she cupped her own face, in mocking shock. "Can't believe it. This has to be a sign that you're dying. Where's the ambulance when you need one."

"I didn't have much of a choice, but telling you the truth, did I?"

Chuckling, she said, "Not really, no. But I wanted you to think you've grown a little as a person."

Only she could make him smile when he felt so bad and was living under such dire circumstances. He took her hand and kissed her fingers, "I don't need an ambulance or a doctor. All I need is you."

"Pray that Merlyn doesn't hear you saying that, or you're going to pay for those words the next time he's stitching you."

Looking passed Felicity, he saw John standing under the doorframe, with arms folded over his chest, his shoulder leaning on the frame, and with an ankle crossed over the other. For most, he could have seemed at ease, but Oliver knew he wasn't. The tension in his bulky arms, with its noticeable veins, was the unmistakable sign of something gnawing the man.

They looked at each other in a silent conversation. Oliver had a hard time searching the right words to apologize to John. At the same time, Diggle didn't need to hear it. He understood Oliver's actions. Most of all, he was aware of his trust issues. A few second holding their gazes were enough to give the matter as done and dusted.

"He wouldn't dare," Oliver groaned, as he sat on the bed with Felicity's help, and removed a wet cloth from his forehead. "I know things, and was witness in several of them, from his years of debauchery, which Tommy wants Laurel never to know about."

The second the words came out, he cursed himself by the tactical mistake he just made. He only could chalk it up to his fevered state. He wasn't thinking right. As he expected, John made a noncommittal grunt in acknowledgment to his comment. On the other hand, he could feel the piercing glare Felicity was giving him. "Witness? It seems more like you were a participant," she said, too sweetly, which made him sweat. Good times never came when she used that tone. "I wonder what this Tommy person has on you. Should I ask him?"

God bless John, he came to Oliver's salvation. Again. He had lost the count how many times Diggle had put him out of Death's claws. True that most of those times had been a physical death, but this one was equally appreciated. Oliver knew he wasn't up for talking to Felicity about his wild years. He would end in a deep, very deep grave.

"I hate to break your lovey-dovey talk, but we need to get going, man."

Nodding, he cut Felicity before she could disagree, saying, "I have to go," he cupped her face, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. She grabbed his wrists in a weak attempt to keep him with her. In the end, both knew why he had to do it. "I'll be okay," he promised before kissing her gently.

Considering the audience, they only could settle for a sweet and reserved kiss that ended too fast. Oliver would have given his right arm to stay there with her, and make everything in his power to erase her crestfallen face. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Letting Felicity go pained Oliver even more than the bullet wound on his side. Steeling his spine, he got up and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go, Dig." Being careful with his somewhat steady steps, he made his way to the front door. His friend tailed him. Out of the sudden, he heard Felicity's soft voice.

"Mr. Diggle?"

John paused and turned around, "My friends call me Diggle, or Dig," he said with kindness. It was obvious that Felicity had already charmed John. He couldn't be mad, really. Oliver knew how difficult was to resist her.

"Diggle," Felicity corrected herself, "Take care of him, please. Even if he doesn't want to."

"I will," his second-in-command solemnly vowed.

Oliver fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was ridiculous the way Felicity and Dig were talking, like if he couldn't take care of himself. His annoyance didn't last long, though. He knew their concern was well intended.

As he walked further away from Felicity's place, Oliver felt the weight of the real world setting upon on his shoulders again. With every step he took, he forced himself to change from the sappy man in love that only Felicity knew, into the cold-hearted kapitan that everyone else knew him to be.

* * *

 _ **AN:**_ _Remember that you can come and talk to me on Tumblr (stygian-omada-fan), where I usually post little tidbits of my fics while I'm writing, and/or on Twitter (Olicity_Fics), where I recommend my favorites fanfictions, not only Olicity, but other fandoms too :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi, dears,**_

 _ **Here we go again. All I can tell you it's that this chapter turned out SO much better than I thought. I really proud of it. Many characters appear on this one, mentioned or on scene. Some of them appeared out of nowhere, but thanks to that, the story is so much better.**_

 _ **I won't keep you here anymore. Enjoy and happy reading!**_

 _ **PS: Thanks acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for naming the club, and being the Fan #1 of this fic and the great friend that you are.**_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4**

"You should have called me last night, man."

Diggle tore his eyes from the road ahead and looked to his right for a moment. Oliver was sitting on the passenger seat, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead, a sign that the fever hadn't broke out. By the slight ashen pallor of his face, Diggle could tell that the man wasn't in his best day.

Oliver opened his eyes and turned his head, "I know, Dig. But I didn't dare. I'm appalled how easily I fell into that ambush. I didn't see it coming until it was too late," his voice dropped an octane, loaded with loathing and self-recrimination. "They killed everyone else and were too damn close to do the same with me. That should have never happened. After that, I couldn't trust anyone."

"I should take offense on that, but I know you, so doesn't surprise me that you didn't reach to out any of us. What does surprise me is that you went to _her_. Doesn't seem the brightest of all plans. She's a civilian, Oliver, an outsider."

Regret darkened Oliver's eyes, "What do you want me to say, Diggle? I know it was careless of my part getting Felicity involved. But at the time, she was the only one I could trust. My intention was staying long enough to take care of the wound and move on, but she wanted me to stay. She's quite persistent."

Diggle agreed, "I noticed. She's fiercely protective of you, too."

Oliver's expression softened and Diggle bit a smile back. The sappy face he had at the moment was strikingly contrary to cold-hearted stance he usually had. It was nice to know that Oliver found someone who was capable of knocking down that hard exterior he built over the years to cut himself off from the people around him.

"She loves you."

"As much I do her. She's my life."

It was a confession that Diggle didn't expect. Not because he thought that Oliver wasn't capable of such sentiment, he knew he was. For more than the man tried to hide it, Diggle knew —he had seen— the lengths to where Oliver was capable of going for the people he care about... for the family. What took Diggle unguarded was how easily he admitted his feelings now.

The rest of the trip was quiet. Oliver went back to rest, gathering all the energy he could, meanwhile Diggle drove through heavy traffic. When they were getting closer to their destiny, Diggle took his cell phone, searched in his contacts scrolling down until he found the right number, and made the call, "We're five minutes away."

"Bring him through the back door," said the man on the other side of the line.

"Copy that."

John hung up as Oliver stirred up, confused, "Where are we? Hey, this isn't— Diggle!" if he were a lesser man, Diggle would have soiled his pants. That "Kapitan" tone in Oliver's voice had done just that to many others. Diggle had ever heard a coldest or a most threatening growl.

Diggle sighed, "Don't start, man. You're going in. You have to."

"What I _have_ to do is to talk to Anatoli. Take me there."

"That can wait... you need to wait. I can give the Parhkan a heads up, in the meantime, if you want. But stop being so stubborn and take care of _that_ , first."

He pointed down to Oliver's side. Blood was seeping through his bandages and soaking his t-shirt. It wasn't much to be overly concerned about it, but it was obvious that Oliver had pulled out some stitches. Probably when he attacked him, not long ago.

"This is nothing."

"Oliver! Man, do I need to remind you that you're already lost consciousness once today? If I get to guess by the grayish tint of your skin, you're about to lose it again. Great talk you're going to have with Anatoli, if you're passed out cold."

Under Oliver's fierce scowl, Diggle stopped the car in an alley behind a building. Dressed in burgundy scrubs, Tommy Merlyn was waiting for them at the back door. As soon as he saw them, Tommy came closer and opened the passenger's door. With a quick assessing glance to Oliver, he said, "You're a mess, buddy. You did the right thing coming here."

"I'm fine, Tommy,"

Diggle snorted.

"Sure you are," the doctor threw an exasperated look at Diggle. John shrugged, having the same feeling. They both knew Oliver, "C'mon, crybaby, the faster I check on you, the faster you'll leave."

"I can't be seen by anyone, Tommy. How can I walk in a clinic where half of the staff is people I don't trust? Beginning with your boss," Oliver hissed.

"Don't worry about him. Ivo isn't here. He went home an hour ago."

"Stop stalling, man," Diggle urged. "We're wasting time here."

Oliver groaned in defeat. He had to know he had no other choice. Neither John nor Tommy would let him leave on his own, in the conditions he was. The kapitan got out the car, moving with a lot less grace than he used to. Half way to the door. He staggered in his step. Yet, he quickly regained his balance, before Tommy or Diggle could reach him to steady him. He continued walking on with his back hard as steel.

John understood why his friend was so adamantly opposed to be treated. Why he always was so determined to appear as if nothing could bring him down. Within the Bratva and for someone with Oliver's status, to show any sign of weakness could get you killed. There was always sharks and vultures lurking close, ready to pounce on you in the second you turned your back on them. It wasn't everybody in the brotherhood, but there were enough of them to keep you on your toes constantly. Oliver had lived that way for too long. Even before joining the Bratva.

At the door, Tommy got in first to make sure the coast was clear. Then, he led the way to an exam room in the back of the clinic. That area was usually reserved for members of the brotherhood only. The clinic had been built with a double purpose. The first, to give free medical care to the people in the low-income neighborhood where it was located. That served as cover for the second purpose. The Parhkan wanted that his people could get medical assistance in any circumstances and no questions asked.

The clinic was more like a full hospital in a small scale. The 4-stories building had the newest medical technology out on the market to treat all kinds of conditions. The emergency service and doctors' offices were located in the first two floors. Meanwhile, the location of the ORs, ICU, and other departments, like radiology was on the top floors.

Tommy hummed unimpressed, once he got the chance to look at Oliver's wound, "I don't know who did more damage... the bullet or whoever stitched you."

"I stitched myself," Oliver said, lying on the gurney.

"Figures."

John smirked. One thing that peeved most to the doctor was to see wounds badly stitched. John didn't know if it was something that every surgeon had or just Dr. Merlyn. Perhaps, it was just him. Tommy was a dedicated doctor, who gave everything of himself to treat his patients the best way possible. He expected the same thing from everybody else.

Including the said patients.

Under Oliver's strong protestations, Tommy gave him fluids, directly into the vein, and then, he re-stitched the wound.

"Can I go now?" Oliver asked as the doctor finished.

"Just one more thing," Tommy pushed some clear fluid into his IV with a syringe. Neither Oliver nor John suspected Tommy's intentions. Not until Oliver felt the effects. His movement became sluggish.

"Wha— Tommy, what did you do?!"

"Doc?"

Tommy ignored John, who stepped closer. He focused in Oliver, who tried to pull out the IV from his arm, but Tommy stopped him with ease, "What's best for my patient."

Oliver tried to get up, but his muscles didn't respond, he was too weak to fight the doctor holding him down. In spite of trying to remain awake, it didn't pass too long before Oliver succumbed to the sedative Tommy gave him, "He won't be happy when he wakes up," Diggle mentioned casually, watching Oliver's knocked out form.

Tommy shrugged, "I know he won't, but will feel better. This is the only way to keep him still for a while. He needs to rest."

That was true, "How much time he will sleep?"

"With the dose I gave him, a couple of hours. Why?"

"Can you keep an eye on him until I get back. Need to do something."

"Yes, sure," Tommy smirked mischievously. "I'll even drug him again, if you haven't returned yet."

"Doc, I'm starting to think you got a death wish. If it's that, I can do you the favor. It'd be quicker and painless than with him."

Tommy laughed, "I take my chances. He's stubborn, but eventually will understand that this is for his own good."

"It's your funeral, Tommy. Later don't say I didn't warn you."

A few minutes later, John was back on his car. While Oliver was unconscious, Diggle could do some damage control with the brotherhood and the Parhkan. Thinking about it, it was better this way. John could feel the terrain before Oliver pounced on it. It was his job after all. As second in command to Oliver, John had the responsibility to look after his safety. Oliver didn't make his job easy, though.

The kapitan insisted that he didn't need someone at his six. That his legendary mistrust was enough to save him of the dangers of his life. Diggle knew that wasn't enough. When you're alone and your enemies are attacking you in several fronts at the same time, at some point, you'll miss one. And that's all it takes to bring you down, there's no hope for you. The game is over.

Fortunately, for Oliver, and in spite of his eternal chagrin, John wasn't the only one willing to protect him. Roy, Slade, Tommy, Sara, and Nyssa were there for him. Well... John wasn't sure about Nyssa, but where Sara went, her girlfriend was right behind her. So, if Sara trusted Nyssa, Diggle could too. There were also Oliver's oldest friends, Pabiyan and Niko, who would die for him. Last night had been proof of that.

John got into his car and started the engine. He had a plan. He would talk first to Anatoli and give him the heads up, and then, he would go with the gang. They needed to know what was happening, too.

 **# # # # # # #**

Anatoli Knyaznev was at closed doors with the nine of his most trusted members of the brotherhood, including the Sovietnik and Kapitans. He needed answers of what had happened last night. He needed to know who had been responsible for it. The attack couldn't stay unanswered, that was for sure. Whoever daring to do such was declaring the war to the Bratva. Their blood would flow.

Suspects were aplenty. The bloodbath perpetrated just mere hours before put in plain sight that they weren't dealing with plain crime-lord wannabes. They weren't just some greedy idiots trying to make a name for themselves going against the biggest fish in the bowl. It had been a scheme, planned and executed carefully, by a person who knew what he or she was doing. This was a serious matter that needed an immediate resolution. The involvement of the Chinese Triad or the Italian mafia was suggested. But Anatoli's instinct was telling him that it might be either of them, it wasn't their style. The rest of the possibilities were a lot worse than those.

Someone knocked on the door. The wooden panel opened and Pabiyan, one of his best and most loyal man, walked in, "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you. It's urgent."

By the grave expression on his face and a crazed gleam in his eyes, Anatoli knew it was, "You got your orders, you know what to do. Now, leave us," he ordered, to the rest.

The sound of eight chairs scraping the floor echoed the room. One by one, the men got on their feet and left. All, except one. Pabiyan looked at him, "Krov, sir, would you mind?"

Sevastyan Krov was a respected member of the Bratva, as well, as of the Federation council —the upper house in the Russian Parliament. Honoring his last name, he was sanguinary in politics and business. A fruitful combination.

"But, of course," he said, with a humility that could fool most people. But not to Anatoli. He could see beyond that humble façade and recognized the wolf hidden beneath that sheepskin. It wasn't necessarily a bad pose, in the world they were living, but it did demanded its due attention from Anotoli's part.

Sevastyan got up, and walked to the exit. He paused a moment, looking back at Anatoli, "Don't forget what I told you. I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but someone has to think with clear head and leaving the heart aside," bowing his head with respect, he stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Apparently, Sevastyan wasn't fooling Pabiyan either. The man had his sight glued at the closed door, his eyes squinted, "What did he say to you, sir?"

"His suspicions about who's behind the attack."

"Who's he blaming?"

"Doesn't matter," Anatoli dismissed it. He wasn't about to add fuel to the fire, not when it was obvious that those two men had bad blood. Anatoli didn't need more trouble at the moment, and Pabiyan had enough worrying about his two closest friends. One fighting for his life, and the other missing. "How's Niko?"

Just then, Pabiyan broke his attention from who had just left and turned to see Anatoli. The mention of Niko put a gloomier cast on him, "Not good. The doctors said he might not make it."

It was a miracle that the man was still alive when they found him. Anatoli reached for a two glasses and a bottle of vodka. He needed a drink, and he was sure the other man needed one even more.

" _Prochnost_!" they said, clinking the glasses together, and then gulped the content at once.

Sitting in his chair, the Parhkan invited Pabiyan to take a seat, "What's the important thing you want to tell me?"

His subordinate looked at him in the eye, "Oliver... he's alive. I know where he is."

Those words took Anatoli about fifteen years in the past, when Pabiyan recited those exact same words. Back then, they had been a surprise. Difficult to believe. The boy had been missing for five long years, and Anatoli had lost all hope of one day learning what had happened to him.

The bodies of Robert and Moira were left in the same place where they had been murdered, but nobody could find Oliver's body. The only thing they find, near where Moira lay dead, was a pool of blood that belonged presumably to the boy.

The entire city was turned upside down looking for the boy. The search was large and throughout, but unfruitful. There was no trace of Oliver anywhere. Not for five long years, until an afternoon that Pabiyan, who was no longer a boy, but not a man yet, came running and intruding into his office, bearing the news.

Back in the present, Anatoli let out a breath he had been holding for hours. He knew he shouldn't have a preference for any of his men. That all of them were replaceable. But he couldn't help feeling a fatherly love towards Oliver. After he returned, Anatoli took him in, giving him a home next to his sister, Thea. They became the children he never had. They became family.

"Where?"

"The clinic. I was leaving after checking on Niko, when I saw him getting in through the back. He might be injured, but Dr. Merlyn should have attended him by now."

Anatoli let sink that in. Then, he asked, "Who else knows about this?"

"Nobody, sir. I haven't told anyone, but you. Besides Dr. Merlyn and Diggle, who were with Oliver, I don't think anyone else knows."

"Let's keep it that way."

"Yes, sir."

Drawing himself up from the chair, Anatoli walked to Pabiyan and tapped him on the shoulder, "You're coming with me."

"Where are we going?"

"I need to have a conversation with one of my kapitans."

 **# # # # # # #**

Right outside of the club _The Jade Monkey_ , which was one of the many fronts the Bratva had, and where the Parhkan liked to operate from, John Diggle was getting out of his car. At half the entrance to the establishment, he crossed path with Sevastyan Klov.

"Diggle."

"Krov," he shot back, toneless. He wasn't biting the bait; he knew the councilman was looking for information, for his own gain.

"Have you heard from Oliver? Is there any news?"

"No, none," _that I'll give you_ , he added in his head. "Excuse me, I need to go in."

Ignoring whatever reply he got from Sevastyan, John walked away from him. But before he could get in the building, another person stopped him. This time, one that he couldn't ignore.

"Dig!"

He turned around and watched Thea Queen approaching, with Roy Harper in tow, "What are you doing here, Thea? This isn't a place for you," John lifted his eyes from her and threw daggers to Roy.

The young man threw his arms up in surrender, "Have you tried to convince her to do something she doesn't want to?! Mission impossible."

"I don't need the permission of anybody to come here," she said, in a very regal way. You couldn't expect anything different. She was a Bratva spoiled princess, after all. Whatever she wanted, she got it. If anyone had the guts to deny her anything and upset her, only would call Oliver's wrath. And the Parhkan's, too. "I heard what happened. Is my brother okay? Please, John, tell me!"

When tears welled up in her eyes, Diggle knew he couldn't keep it from her. It was universally known that Thea had an overwhelming fear to lose his brother. Even when she was just a baby when he went missing, since he got back, she had always the fear he might leave her again.

Looking around to make sure they were alone, he told her in a low voice, "He's mostly okay. Tommy patched him up."

"Thank God," Roy breathed. He wanted to know the whats, hows, and whens, but he knew better than ask in front of his girlfriend. Diggle was aware of that.

"I want to see him."

"No, Thea, wait," John grabbed her arms, with affection, and spoke calmly. "Not now, okay? There's some things he needs to figure out before he can go home. I'll take him when he's done. But it's better that you go now," he silently motioned Roy to help a bit.

"Come on, baby. I'll take you back to the house."

She was about to protest again, but John cut her off before she could begin, "Why don't prepare yourself to spoil him the next couple of days. He might need it. Tell Raisa to prepare him his favorite food."

She wasn't too happy about it, but in the end, she took his suggestion, "I'll go, but you take care of him and get him home, soon!"

"I will, promise."

With that obstacle conquered, Diggle finally went into the club. Greeting the brothers inside, most who were Anatoli's bodyguards, he walked to the back, where the Parhkan's office was located. Half way there, he ran into the man himself.

"Ah! Diggle, one of the men I wanted to see. I believe you have some information for me, yes?"

John noticed Pabiyan behind Anatoli, who was avoiding looking at him in the eyes. Something was going on. Did the boss know about Oliver already? But, how? His eyes fell on Pabiyan, again. _Dammit_!, "Yes, sir. But I'd rather tell you about it in private."

"No time for that. Come with me. I'm visiting a friend."

All the instincts in John flared up in alert. It wasn't a secret that the Parhkan loved Oliver like a son, but it wasn't a secret either how ruthless he could be. Nobody was safe from his wrath. Not even family. Diggle couldn't read the boss's intentions, and that scared him to death.

 **# # # # # # #**

"He's a lucky sonabitch," for the first time in hours, Sevastyan finally could let his disgusted tone a free rein. "He shouldn't be alive."

"He wouldn't be, if your men had done the job right!" his interloper at the other side of phone line snapped. "Not only he survived. There's another."

"Couldn't you take care of them? You're in their inner circle."

"Not a smart move. The protection around them is much tighter, now. Besides, this on you, Sevastyan. This is your mistake, fix it! The sooner, the better."

"Don't worry. I'm already working on it."

Oliver Queen might have been lucky the night before. But that was all the luck he was going to get. By the time Sevastyan ended with him, he was going to wish never had survived the attack.

* * *

 _ **Okay, a little Russian lesson coming up!**_

 _Krov_ _ **is russian for blood so... Sevastyan Krov = Sebastian Blood (doesn't it sounds cooler?)**_

 _Sovietnik_ _ **("Councilor") -according to Wikipedia-, is the advisor and most close trusted individual to the Pakhan, similar to the Consigliere in Italian-American Mafia crime families and Sicilian Mafia clans.**_

 _ **And you should know by now that**_ _Prochnost_ _ **is Russian for strength, right?**_

 _ **Understood? Yeah? Good!**_

 _ **One more thing (just in case someone is thinking about it)**_

 _ **I know that in the show, Anatoli speaks with a heavy accent and such, but that won't happen much around here. Remember that they're IN Russia. Who could have heavy accent are John, Felicity, Sara, or anyone, but**_ _**Anatoli**_


	5. Chapter 5

_My dears!_

 _I'm not super happy with this chapter. It feels awkward, or rushed, i don't know *sighs* I blame to all the times I had to put on hold my writing because of real life duties. I hope you like it better than I am, but I won't blame you if you don't._

 _I have good and bad news. Let's start with the bad. There won't be updates for at least a month. I'm participating in Camp NaNoWriMo in April, so I'll be concentrating all my attention and free time to it. But that brings the good news too. I'll be working on all my ongoing fics, which means that on May you can expect updates of all of them!_ _Including this one :)_

 _In meantime, enjoy this chapter._ _Happy reading!_

 **CHAPTER 5**

Oliver woke up in confusion, but it didn't last long. As soon as he heard Tommy's voice, he remembered everything. He was at the clinic, and the bastard had drugged him.

"Hey, Ollie. How are feeling?"

"Murderous. If I were you, I'd hide somewhere I can't find you before I can get up and kill you," even when the sedative had worn out almost entirely, Oliver still could feel some effect of it.

Tommy didn't even flinch at the threat, "Oh, c'mon, buddy. You know I did it for your own good. You'll heal faster if you rest."

"I don't have time for that, Tommy."

"Make time," the doctor cut in. "To prove my point, guess what? Your fever is down, your blood pressure went back to normal, and you no longer look like Casper."

"Casper?"

"Ghostly white."

Oliver glared at his so-called friend, and said nothing. Deep down, he knew the doctor was right. In fact, he was feeling much better than when he got to the clinic. Not that he was going to admit that, or he'd never hear the end of it. Tommy wouldn't let him.

"How much I've been out?"

"Almost two hours."

"Where's John?" Oliver asked, noticing the absence of his second-in-command. It was unusual for Diggle to leave him alone when he was vulnerable. It was true that Tommy was there and he wasn't exactly alone, but in the current circumstances, it was an understatement to say Oliver was in enemy territory. He thought Diggle wouldn't leave him for anything.

Groaning, Oliver straightened up into sitting position. He did it slowly, giving time to the world to right itself around him.

"Take it easy," Tommy said, giving his friend a hand to sit up. Then he removed the heart rate monitor Oliver had in his middle finger. "John went away, not long after you fell asleep-"

"You drugged me!" Oliver remarked tersely.

"Well, fine! He went out just right after I knocked you out. Anyway, I don't think he'll take much longer to come back."

"Did he said where he was going?"

"He went to see me," a third voice said.

Oliver and Tommy turned their heads to the door and watched Anatoli getting into the exam room, with Diggle and Pabiyan in tow. Tommy bowed his head greeting the pahkan, while Oliver attempted to get off the gurney, paying no heed to the pain or the lack of strength he had.

"Anatoli, I-"

The newcomer raised his hand to silence him, "Calm down, _сын_ ," getting closer to Oliver, he put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. The slight pressure Anatoli put on it was enough to urge Oliver to lean back on the bed. "By the expression on the good doctor's face, I think he's not happy with you trying to stand so soon."

Oliver bit his tongue. He was tired of having the same discussion with everybody. They were treating him like if he was weak. And damn it, he was not! This was nothing.

The corner of Anatoli's lips curved up with amusement. He knew exactly what Oliver was thinking. The boss looked past Oliver and spoke directly to Tommy, "Am I wrong, doctor?"

"No, sir, you're not wrong."

"Should he stay in the clinic?"

Provided Tommy's answer, Oliver was going to commit murder or not. He wasn't going to stay in the clinic a second longer than he had to. In fact, he had stayed too long already.

"It's not necessary. But he needs to take it easy for a few days."

Oliver exploded. None of them seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation, "Can't take it easy when a tra-"

"Oliver," Anatoli shushed him at once. Having effectively silencing his protest, the pahkan set his attention once again in Tommy, "Doctor, please, would you be kind to give us the room?"

Even when the pahkan exuded politeness in its purest form, there was no doubt he gave an order that he expected to be obeyed at once. Dr. Merlyn didn't hesitate. He walked away without looking back.

"Now, Oliver," Anatoli said, switching from the easygoing man he played so far to the pragmatic leader he was, "I want you to tell me what happened last night? Diggle didn't supply me many details. I want to know how's possible that an entire brigade ended up dead."

"The only explanation I can come up with is that there's a Judas among us. They were waiting to kill us."

"For what I heard, there are suspicions about _you_ being the one who betrayed us."

"Not everybody thinks that."

Surprised, Oliver fixed his eyes in Pabiyan, who had spoken. The dirty-blond man wore a solemn expression on his face, like Oliver have never seen before. That made him questioned himself, wondering if he had gone too far not trusting in those closest to him. First John, now Pabiyan were showing a trust in him that he hadn't reciprocated in the least. Were his instincts so messed up?

"I'm not a traitor," he said, his eyes were still on Pabiyan.

"You don't need to convince _me_ of that," his friend assured him. "You'd have never done anything to hurt Niko. I know you wouldn't."

Oliver closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to stop the spinning emotions brought up by the memory of the last time he saw his friend. Watching Niko bleeding to death, "He gave his life to save me."

"No, he didn't."

The certainty in Anatoli's declaration made Oliver whirl his head sharply to the left, "Yes, he did," he countered. "He took a round of bullets for me. I would be dead now, if it wasn't for him!"

"What I mean is that he's not dead. He survived," Anatoli said, soothingly.

"What?! How?" Oliver couldn't believe it. When he made the choice to leave his friend behind, he was certain that there was nothing he could do for him. Otherwise, Oliver would have never left Niko suffering alone.

"He's in ICU," Pabiyan said.

"Is he going to make it?"

"We don't know yet. Doctors said they did everything they could do for him. Now it's his turn to fight."

"He will. He's going to pull it through."

Oliver wished his words would make it true. But the people that he cared about had the bad habit of dying on him. That's why he had such hard time letting people in his life. He knew that sooner or later they'd ended up dead. For a while he thought his curse was over, but now he had the feeling that it was going to collect the late payments and with interest.

"In the meantime, you're going to talk to me. I need answers, Oliver. Tell me what happened."

Oliver turned his gaze to Anatoli, who was losing his patience. That was never a good thing. Without wasting any more time, Oliver recapitulated everything from last night.

It all started when Misha Berzin informed Oliver that a brigade under Frederik Voikevich's command had found the location of the pitiful gang, which had been pestering in the last few weeks. Frederik, a Kapitan of the old school, always had been good at what he did, so it wasn't a surprise to Oliver that the man had already made a recognition operation around the area, planned the assault, and summoned a party of six men to carry it out.

The warehouse was located in a conflictive area in the outskirts of Moscow. It was where the territories of the Bratva and Chinese Triad collided. That's why they didn't want to bring a larger number of men. It would draw unwanted attention from the Triad.

It wasn't that Anatoli or the Bratva feared it. As if! But the treaty with them was feeble at best. Chein Na Wei was a woman with little tolerance. She kept her people and her affairs on their side, as long as the brotherhood did the same. No one wanted to start a war. It was bad for business, and nothing the Bratva loved the most than profitable ventures, running smoothly.

According to the information Frederik had, there were no more than eight men in the warehouse. A small group, easy to take out without any eventuality.

The plan was solid and it was ready to execute.

Oliver didn't think anything about it, when Misha invited him to join them. He said that with him the number of men would be almost even, so the risk of surprises would be even lower. A perfect and logic asseveration. On their way out, they ran into Niko, who like Oliver joined the party without a second thought.

At the beginning of the incursion, everything went according to the plan. The sentries around the building were eliminated in seconds. Right there, Oliver should have known that something wasn't right. Even with the element of surprise, things had gone smoother than he thought they would go. That was never his luck. The now-dead men hadn't put a real fight or challenge. That should have triggered his instincts. But he made the mistake of underestimating his adversary.

It was inside the warehouse that everything changed.

At first sight, Frederik's intel had been correct. According to Misha, who gave a quick look inside, there were about five men guarding indoors. Taking into consideration how easy had been killing the men outside, the rest would be a piece of cake as well.

When they got into the structure, it became clear that it wasn't the case. Those inside were much better prepared than the ones killed outside. Besides bigger weapons and better aim, the goons soon multiplied in a blink.

Now, Oliver, Niko, and the rest were outnumbered, four to one.

They might have managed to save themselves, if it wasn't because when the rain of bullets came at them, Misha did the unthinkable. He started shooting the closest brothers to him. Then, he ran seeking safety in the enemy ranks. Oliver couldn't believe that Misha was betraying the brotherhood so blatantly.

Unlike Oliver, the rival gangster didn't underestimate them. They didn't leave anything to chance. A second wave of men came by, making the odds even more dreadful. The attack seemed to last an eternity, but in reality couldn't have lasted more than ten minutes. Oliver and his guys managed to take down some of the assailants, but even so, they were doomed. One by one, the Bratva men fell.

At some point, Oliver caught Misha scurrying away in the back. Getting away like the rat that he was, and Oliver wouldn't have it. Nobody betrayed the Bratva and lived.

In spite of how bad his night was, he got the satisfaction of killing the bastard. He didn't waste his breath, on someone who didn't deserve it, to ask for explanations. Oliver simply fired his gun three times in a rapid succession, as soon as Misha got in clear line of his aim. After blowing Misha's brains out, someone tackled him from behind.

Almost instantaneously, his side burned like a mother. Yet, he paid no heed to it. He retaliated, thinking that it was a foe attacking him. Before his elbow made contact, he froze. It was no foe, but Niko, who had taken the bullets that would have killed him instead.

Oliver thought he had gotten used to blood and death through the years. He had been the instrument of it so many times. But watching Niko dead on the floor -or so, he thought-, took him against his will back to that alley where his parents were murdered. The same oppressing and acrid sensation of helplessness he felt back then, swelled in his chest.

It almost suffocated him.

But another feeling, matching in strength, kept him from giving in. It was obvious now that somebody had planned the assault very well. The order had been to leave no survivors. He would be damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction to be killed. And much less, he was going to let that person get away with it. He knew the mastermind wasn't Misha. He always had been more muscles than brains; he was nothing, but a pawn.

He needed to know who was behind all of it and find out what was the final objective of that person. This was just the beginning of something much larger.

He knew he was outnumbered and alone. Staying there, to fight a battle that he would lose much sooner than later, was just stupid. So, he made a tactical retreat. He hated to do that, but if he wanted to avenge the death of those who had lost their lives that night, he needed to stay alive.

He ran toward the door through where Misha had intended escape earlier, closely followed by those wanting to kill him. If it weren't for the ability to disappear in the streets that he learned as a kid, he probably wouldn't have made it. He had to thank to the late Yao Fei once more for saving his life.

"I wish Misha was still alive," scratching his jaw, Anatoli mused.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to get out of there alive," Oliver reasoned, "but, definitely, I wasn't going to let that _ублюдку_ to get with it!"

"It wasn't a criticism, Oliver," Anatoli put his hand on Oliver's shoulder, in a fatherly manner. "You did what I would have done. I was just thinking out loud. If he was alive, your boy Slade could have interrogated him, that's all."

In that, Anatoli was right. Slade Wilson, a former A.S.I.S agent, had a formidable skill to gather information out of an unwilling subject. Skill that it had been very useful to the brotherhood in countless occasions. Oliver had no doubt that Slade would have made Misha sing like a bird.

"Misha is dead, but Voikevich is not. If he isn't who is behind all this, then he knows who is. He's the one who," Oliver made quote marks in the air, " _discovered_ the warehouse. So, it seems suspicious to me that someone who _always_ knows what's going on didn't know he was sending us to an ambush."

"You sure?"

"No, but I wouldn't put my hand on the fire for him, either. Right now, I trust no one, but me."

"All right. We have a small window to act with the advantage of surprise. Otherwise, we might lose the opportunity to find out who the hell is behind all this. I'll talk with Slade, and I'll invite Frederik over for a friendly chat. The word of your reappearance hasn't spread yet, but it won't take much longer in doing so."

Once everyone knew he was alive, the coming events could go in two different ways. The person who was double-crossing the brotherhood would speed up the plan giving them no time to stop the plot set in motion, or lay low-key for a while until things get settled, and trying a new attempt in a later date. Neither option was acceptable.

The only outcome Oliver was willing to stand for was to put his hands on the traitor and kill the bastard. Just then, he would be at ease.

"For the time being, I want you to go home," Anatoli's tone left no room for discussion. Oliver might've defied the order, if it wasn't for Anatoli's next argument. "Your sister and Raisa are waiting for you. Regain your strength, because I get the feeling this situation won't be easy to resolve and I'll need you by my side."

"All right, I'll go home, but please, keep me posted about Voikevich."

Anatoli nodded solemnly, grasping Oliver's forearm with his hand, "If he says something worthy of knowing, I'll let you know."

It was almost an hour later, after the pahkan left the examination room, that Oliver finally was discharged. Meanwhile, waiting for the papers, he, Pabiyan, and John resolved to put security detail to Niko. The traitor could want to tie loose ends and Niko was vulnerable at any attack. Anyone could enter his room and kill him. It would be easy make it look as if he died as a result of his injuries. If Niko died, there would be no one to corroborate Oliver's account. Oliver knew Anatoli believed him, but he wasn't the only one who needed to convince. Two witnesses telling the same story were much better than just one.

They designated to Sara and Nyssa for the job. At instinctive level, Oliver had still reservations about everyone, but consciously he made the leap of faith in trusting in those closest to him. Both John and Pabiyan agreed that the women were the right choice. He hoped that they were right.

 **# # # # # # #**

The first thing he felt when he got home was a short, but strong, mass of muscles and bones wrapping around him. Thea held onto him like her life depended on it, "Ollie, thank God you're home! I was so worried."

Oliver held his baby sister tight against him, taking comfort in her loving embrace. She was everything of his family that he got left, and he was particularly protective of her. He hated having her worried so much. He kissed the top of her head as a silent apology, "I'm okay, Speedy. It was nothing."

"That's not what I heard," she countered, pulling away from enough to see his face. She fisted his shirt, on his back, and squared her shoulders. Her features hardened, as a tic appeared on her lips. All her body language was a big tell about how scared she had been. Thea seldom reacted to fear with tears. Rather, it stirred her anger.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm home and I'm fine," he assured her, and enveloped once more in his arms. She didn't fight him and fused her body into his.

"Just... don't scare me like this anymore, okay?"

"I promise."

"Thea, why don't you take your brother upstairs?"

A few feet from where they were, the lady of the house stood, watching them with adoring eyes. Short, chubby, and kind-hearted, she was the soul of the household. Oliver couldn't imagine how different his and Thea's life could without her in it. He let go his sister and walked to the older woman, who wasn't blooded family to them. Actually, she was Anatoli's sister, but she was the one who raised Thea since she was months old; and later ended up raising Oliver, too, when he returned from living in the streets. She truly was like a mother to him. To both of them.

"Hi, Raisa," Oliver said, sheepishly. When he was in front of her, Oliver leaned down, allowing her to cupped his face and pulling further down to kiss his forehead.

"Hi, _конфетка_. It's a relief to have you at home," she smiled warmly. "I had your room prepared, for whenever you want to rest."

Oliver smiled at her, with double gratitude. She had to be aware that he probably would need bed rest, but she wasn't insisting on it. She was the only one who truly understood him. She was the only one who had comprehended that the more the people forced him to do something, the less he'd do it. So, she often applied a sort of reverse psychology with him, getting the desire result she wanted.

"If you're hungry, I have a big pot with soup on the stove... your favorite."

Kissing her cheek, he thanked her, "I'd love some of it, but first, I want to take a shower."

"Go on then, take your shower. A steamy bowl will be waiting for you, when you get out of the bathroom."

With Thea as company, he went up to his room. She left him alone meanwhile he was in the shower, but returned just a couple of minutes after he was done. She was carrying two bowls of the delicious pottage that Raisa had made for him. They ate together, splayed out on his bed and watching several episodes of Thea's favorite show on Netflix. He paid little attention to it, but enjoyed having a quiet quality time with his sister.

It had been a while since the last time they had a downtime like this. With his duty with the brotherhood, and Thea growing up too fast for his liking, taking an interest in boys and getting out with her friends, their time together had cut short lately.

When an episode was coming to an end, someone knocked on the door. Opening it, Roy peeked his head in, "Hey, boss. Pabiyan left a new phone for you, and asked me to give it to you."

He had abandoned his old one while he escaped the night before. That way no one could use it to trace him.

"Come on in. Let me see."

"Hi, baby," Thea waved Roy. Her face bright, with a splendid smile on it.

"Hey," was the shy reply from him.

Checking the new prepaid phone, Oliver did his best to ignore the eye battering between his sister and her boyfriend. Roy was a good kid, never afraid to do what was necessary, and Oliver recognized how much Roy loved and protected his sister. But that didn't mean he was super thrilled about their relationship. Thea was his sister, for Christ's sake! His _baby_ sister.

But between Roy and any other guy out there, with who knows what intentions, the choice was obvious. That was why he had let them be together and had intervened in favor of the kid when Anatoli found out they were dating. The pakhan was less than happy with the teen romance.

Oliver let out a long and anguished sigh, "Why don't both of you go already? Why subject me to this?"

"Ollie!"

"No, Thea. I don't want to see you battering your eyelashes to your boyfriend. Or his heart eyes looking at you, either." Roy huffed, offended, which Oliver ignored. "I've suffered enough for today. Please, no more!"

"But, I wanna stay with you."

Thea leaned her head on his shoulder. He leaned his own on hers and lifted his hand to her face, "It's okay, Speedy. You can go. I'll get some sleep, I'm tired."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Do you need anything else? I can bring it to you before leaving," she offered.

"Nothing. I'm good."

"Okay, then. Rest well, big brother," she kissed him on the cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

He waved her goodbye as she walked out of his room, then he stopped the boy, "Roy," he didn't have to say another word. The expression of Oliver's face said everything and Roy caught the message immediately.

"I'll take of her, don't worry."

He would worry anyway, that was his number one job as big brother. He knew Thea was becoming in an adult and she could take her own choices, but he would do anything to protect her from all the hurts she could suffer out there in the world. Even from her own mistakes. That was not healthy, but he couldn't help it.

To stop thinking on what he didn't have control over, he took his new phone and dialed the number of the only person who could soothe his turmoil. At the second ring, she answered, "Hello."

"Hey _милая_."

"Oliver, my love!" in the background he heard a thud, like if something hit the ground, followed by a soft curse leaving her lips. His instinct of protection surged in a heartbeat. "Felicity, are you okay? What happened? Felicity!"

"Calm down, Oliver. Everything's fine. My excitement because you're calling me made me drop my laptop, that's all."

"Oh."

"I don't think my laptop is too happy, but I definitely am, hearing your voice. How are you feeling? Have your friend doctor checked on you?"

"I'm better, and yes, Tommy looked at my wound. You probably will be happy to hear that I'm currently at home, resting on my bed. Doctor's orders," Oliver sighed in frustration, and added, "And yours and the rest of the humanity's."

"Oh, don't be that way, my love. You know we only wish the best for you."

"I know that, but I hate when people treat me like a child."

"If I was there with you in bed, you wouldn't be complaining so much."

There was so much true in those words. Oliver wanted nothing more than having her in his arms, feeling her warmth, the softness of her skin and be drunk with her addicting scent, "I'll come by your place, as soon as I can. I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"What are you doing? Hacking?" he asked, hearing the faint rat-a-tat of her fingers flying over a keyboard.

"That's such ugly word, Oliver! But yeah, I'm totally hacking into the affairs of your so-called brothers. And let me tell you one thing, finding out something useful is going to be more difficult than I thought. It's not like I can signal someone who's doing not-so-legal activity. They're Bratva. Of course, they're doing something illegal. I need some tip about the direction I should be going. Don't you have any clue that could help me? Maybe a name... something."

Oliver was about to say he didn't have any, but then he thought it better. Having Felicity digging into Bratva business without guidance could lead her to more trouble than put herself in the traitor's cross hairs. She could go too deep and find out things she shouldn't. And then, he wouldn't be able to protect her. Neither his rank nor the closeness to the pakhan would be enough, if anyone found out that she was looking into sensitive business.

"Perhaps the name Frederik Voikevich will be useful to you," he finally said.

"What was that?"

"Frederik Voikevich. Check what he's been into in the recent months. Can you do that?"

"It hurts me that you ask me that. Have you met me?!" Oliver could picture Felicity rolling her eyes. "Give me a couple of hours and I'll tell you everything about him, even the name of his first pet."

"Just be careful."

"Always, my love. Call you when I got something, okay?"

"Great," the word just had come out of his mouth, when his phone buzzed. It was an unfamiliar ringtone, so he looked at the screen. It was the notification of a text from Slade. "Call me," it said.

Returning the phone to his ear, he did something he didn't really want to. He said goodbye to Felicity, "Honey, I gotta go, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure. By then, I should have had something about the guy."

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Oliver hung up, and without missing a beat, he dialed Slade's number, Cutting short the pleasantries, he went to the point, "What do you got for me, Slade? What Frederik said?"

The lack of courtesy from Oliver's part didn't bothered Slade in the least. In fact, it was how he preferred. Taking the example, he replied in a hoarse voice, "Nothing that you're going to like."

 **Russian Lesson** _:[According to Google translator]_

 **Сын** ( _syn_ ) means son,

 **ублюдку** ( _ublyudku_ ) means motherf*cker,

 **конфетка** ( _konfetka_ ) means sweetie.


	6. Chapter 6

_My dearies!_

 _Sorry about the delay, but here it is the next chapter. Remember that on the previous one I said I wasn't too happy about it, right? Well… now I say I LOVE this one. I did once I change the POV in the first scene. Believe, I tried to make it on Oliver's, and then Slade's. Both attempts were disastrous._

 _Anyway… to celebrate tonight's season finale, I'm giving you this chapter where Oliver is very opposite to what he is on the show right now. My version of him here is getting darker and darker. Oh boy! Forget in-the-light Oliver, you won't find him here._

 _If I'm honest, I kinda love him like this. That's why I'm sooooo excited to see next season's flashbacks. Finally we'll see Bratva!Oliver. Yaaaaasss! I've been waiting that day since the beginning of season 1._

 _But I'm babbling, so I'll let you read, and then at the end of the chapter, we'll talk more._

 _Enjoy the reading!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

The pain and humiliation that Frederik Voikevich was feeling, laying on the floor of what many considered was the direct gate to Hell, was the proof of how an idiot he had been. Greed and hunger for power blindsided him, to the point to think he was capable of playing the Pakhan as a fool. And when Anatoli summoned him to meet in secret, he honestly thought that he was beyond all suspicion. Shame on him not to foresee the fate waiting for him. He should have known better. No treason to Brotherhood went unpunished.

When he arrived to the rendezvous point, he realized he was the one who had been played. He fell into a trap. His instinct bellowed for him to run... to fight his way out to freedom. But any resistance on his part was futile. Faster than he could even think, he was subdued and taken to where he knew he never would come out alive. Yet, death would come slow and painful.

He was a lump of broken bones and bleeding wounds on the floor of a pungent, cold, and dark cell. Every breath he took was an act of renewed agony. No doubt that all his ribs were broken. Yet, the lasting effect of the tortures to which he was subjected to had him trying to decide which pain was worse. The several stabs on his thighs and abdomen weren't immediate life-threatening, just painful and incapacitating. The burns in his skin, alone, wouldn't be any other than a bother. But adding it to the rest of his mistreatment, it took a toll on his waning energy. It was why he was grateful for the numbness of his hands, bound tight at his back. A pain less he had to worry about. Restraining him like that was a precaution that his interrogator had taken, but he knew it was pointless. With all his fingers broken, little he could do with his hands.

Not that escaping from the room was any easy in perfect health conditions, less alone injured. His first obstacle would be to pass the solid and impenetrable iron door with no knob on the inside. Then, he knew that on the other side, a half of dozen of armed men was waiting for him, if he dared to break out. The second he put a foot outside the cell, a rain of bullets would turn him into a human Swiss cheese. If he was honest, he was tempted. It would end his agony, but the only thing that stopped him to commit suicide by lead poisoning was the certainty that, once he was dead, his family would be the next target. The deal he made would be voided.

His not-so-voluntarily cooperation was the only thing that kept them safe. He endured as much as he could, but absolutely nobody can go through torture forever. So, when he realized he was about to break, and his dismissal would follow soon after, he negotiated. There was no other way for the lives of his wife, Katria, and their son, Igor, to be pardoned. It was the deal he made; he sang everything he knew in exchange for their safety.

When the iron door opened loudly and lights went on, Fedrerik's only reaction was to blink, getting used to the light again. He didn't even try to crawl to the farthest corner. Why bother? He knew what was coming. He just stayed there lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids, watching as Slade Wilson and Oliver Queen stepped in. If the cold stare of the interrogator demanded a healthy dose of fear in him, it paled in comparison to the murderous gaze of the _kapitan_.

Usually, Slade was the type of cold-blooded guy capable of doing anything to get whatever he wanted, usually valuable information. Which made him the best interrogator in the Brotherhood. He wore that skin around the clock. However, Queen was a hibernating beast that, only when he was crossed, it came out of the cave famished on vengeance. Much more vicious and deathly than anyone could take him for.

And now all that aggression was directed at him. However, when Oliver hunkered down in front of him, Frederik didn't back away. He stayed in place and held his gaze with the only eye he could open. He was a traitor, but not a coward.

"If anything you said to Slade is a lie," Queen's words were measured and heavy in the promise they carried, "I'll come back to skin you alive with a dull knife. Slowly. Then I'll shove your treacherous hide down your throat. Is that clear?"

"Yes, very clear," Frederik mumbled, ignoring the ache of his bruised jaw and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He didn't expect any less of Oliver Queen. He knew that the man threatening him would keep his word of elongating his agony forever. Queen's torture skills rivaled Slade's. "But I told everything I know. It's true. I swear to the lives of my wife and son."

Appeased by his vow, Oliver straightened up and stepped away from him. By the door, he and Slade conferred in a low voice. The latter nodded before knocking on the heavy door. Moments later, the door opened and the pair got out, leaving Frederik to rot in the hell of his own making.

 **# # # # # # # # # #**

Stepping up on the stairs at the end of the corridor that lead to the underground level, Oliver couldn't help thinking that, even when he hadn't felt any deception in Frederik's word moments ago, finding out the identity of the traitor had been too easy. According to what their guest down the hall had spat out, Dr. Ivo was the mastermind behind all.

It wasn't that Oliver didn't believe the doctor capable of it, because he truly was, but there was something not adding up. Anton Ivo was as ruthless and ambitious as any; quite clever too. Yet, he always seemed more eager to expand his medical business than taking control of the Bratva.

As far as Oliver knew, all he wanted was having more freedom to go deeper into the black market -trafficking organs to the highest bidder- and doing his experiments without supervision of any kind. Oliver was almost certain that Dr. Ivo was another pawn in a much larger game. The question was who was manipulating all the puppets. However, he needed to check out every and all the clues. In any case, if he was right or not, he needed to know what Ivo was up to.

In spite of his lack of training as a spy, the perfect man for the job was Tommy. His position as a doctor at the clinic gave him an excellent cover. Nobody would think anything if he made a few discreet inquiries over there. He knew better than anyone Ivo's routine and habits.

Oliver would call him, but first...

"I need you to do me a couple of favors. First, send Pabiyan to Voikevich's house to keep an eye on his family."

"You're thinking the wife might be involved," Slade noted.

"I don't know. If she isn't, then she and the kid are in danger in the second that people know Frederik is down here," and knowing how fast news ran through the Brotherhood, Oliver wouldn't be surprised if they already knew. "Ivo, or whoever is in charge, can use them to assure Voikevich's silence."

"Too little, too late. He confessed what he knows."

"That's what my guts tell me, but we can't be one hundred percent sure. My instincts are off right now, so I rather take the due precautions. Besides, isn't the deal you made? We'll keep his family safe."

Oliver's honor was demanding to keep that side of the bargain. As long as Voikevich's info was correct, no harm would fall upon his family. If Frederik had lied... well, then Pabiyan also could take care of them.

"And the second favor?"

"Going with the same thinking, don't let anyone, but you, to go in that cell. And no more questions for him tonight."

Slade looked at him, surprised. "Don't tell me you care if the bastard dies."

As if! "Of course not. In other circumstances, I'd have ripped his heart out back there. But for now, he is our most solid source of intel. His life will last until he's useful to us. Then, I'll send him myself to the lowest pit of hell."

"Okay, kid. You're the boss," Slade said, slightly irked by the banning to play with his new playmate. Yet, Oliver knew Slade would respect his order, no matter how much he wanted to make Voikevich suffer. They reached to the main door when Slade asked, "And what about Ivo?"

"Leave him to me. I know exactly what I'm gonna do," Oliver assured him.

"If you need help, let me know."

Slade's cell phone buzzed then and Oliver watched the stern face of his friend turning more somber as he checked who was calling. "Everything's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, but I need to take this. Keep in touch, if you need me," Slade said, as he walked away.

"Will do."

Oliver got out of a supposedly abandoned two-story building, located at the outskirts of Moscow. If you wanted to gather information from someone or make a body disappear, that was the place where you needed to go.

As he walked to his Ducati, Oliver made the pending call he needed to do. First, he tried calling Tommy to his cell phone. But it went directly to the voice mail. Nothing unusual, especially if Tommy was operating on a patient. So Oliver called to the clinic. It turned out that Tommy was neither operating on a patient nor at the clinic. He had gone home. So he called there. But who answered was Tommy's girlfriend, Laurel, who was also Sara's big sister.

"Hey, Laurel. Sorry that I'm calling so late, but could I talk to your boyfriend for a sec?"

"He hasn't come home yet. Didn't you call him to his cell?"

"I did, but it rolled to his voice mail."

She made a sound of annoyance, "He let his battery died. Again. I don't know when he's gonna learn to keep it charged. Being a doctor, one would think he'd be more careful about that, but no."

"Not the first time it happens, huh?"

"No. He sent me a text earlier that saying that, when he was off his shift, he was picking up our dinner. When he gets here, I'll tell him you called.

"I appreciate if you do that. I really need to talk to him."

"It's everything okay, Ollie?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just need a favor from him."

"Don't worry; I'll make him call you as soon as he steps in the house."

"Thanks, Laurel."

"Good night, Ollie."

"Night."

 **# # # # # # # # # #**

Unaware of how much time had passed since his last visitors came and went, Frederik was in the same position when the door of the cell opened again. It took him a moment to sense that this wasn't like the other times. For one, the lights never went on. Blind by the brightness coming in from outside, he only could see the dark shape of someone at the door. Slade or one of guards, probably.

Frederik never got to say the bold taunting comment on the tip of his tongue. The only pleasure he had left. In a blink, the man at the door came in, knelt down, and stabbed him in the chest. It wasn't the first time that day that he felt a sharp blade cutting his flesh. But unlike the others, this time the blade went deep, cutting a major blood vessel. This time wasn't to provoke pain, but to kill him.

"My family... They... safe. Please."

As he gasped for air and begged for their safety, his killer leaned down and whispered in his ear, "They're dead."

That couldn't be. His family needed to be alive. _NO!_ The scream resonated in his head, but nothing came out of his throat. He was dying as fast as the blood poured out of him. His time was over, and there was nothing he could do to save his family or himself.

"And you're joining them now," said the killer, as he twisted the knife and yanked it out, ending Frederik's life for good.

 **# # # # # # # # # #**

Oliver was walking back and forward in his room like a caged lion. His inactivity was killing him. Tommy had called him not long ago and accepted the job to spy Ivo. As soon as he knew something he would inform him. Oliver had delegated to his most trusted people to take the pertinent actions to get the filthy rat in their midst. Even Felicity was working on it. Which left him with a lot of nothing to do, but brood.

Exercising his legendary stubbornness, he was avoiding taking more painkillers. His side was throbbing badly. The ride on his bike hadn't been the best idea and now he was paying the price. Even so, he needed to stay alert. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to be attacked in any minute. He needed all his senses sharp.

The ring of his phone sent his instinct on alert. He answered, not even looking who it was.

"They're dead," Pabiyan said without preamble. "Frederik's family is dead."

"What do you mean by 'they're dead'?! What happened?"

Oliver listened the irritated voice of his friend as he explained. Pabiyan got to the Voikevich's residence, willing to stay all night watching over them. But something hadn't been right. Pabiyan went to investigate closer when he realized all the light in the house were off, even though the night had fallen. Also, Mrs. Voikevich's car was in the driveway. They supposed to be home.

Pabiyan got in with the keys he had taken from Frederik, and found the woman dead on the kitchen floor, meanwhile the boy lay likewise in his bedroom. Both bled out due a stab in the heart.

"They knew the assassin. They let him in... or her."

"Why do you think it was an acquaintance? And why a woman?"

"I don't want to rule out anyone, that's all. And definitely, they let in whoever killed them. There was no sign of forced entry or struggle. In fact, there's a second cup on the table, as if Katria and her visitor sat to chat over a coffee and cookies. I bet she never saw it coming until she had the knife buried in her chest."

Oliver wasn't sure if Katria knew her husband's treachery, but he doubted it. She was kind and loyal. She seldom got into the power war that the Bratva wives had in the backstage. Very few brothers would admit it, but most of them would ask for advice to their wives from time to time. That was an open secret. The wives could be more ruthless than their husbands could when it came to climb to a higher position within the Brotherhood. A war that was fought with wit and deceptions more lethal and sharper than any gun or knife.

It was a shame that Katria and her son had gotten such fate. They weren't at fault of Frederik's bad decisions. And Oliver was angry that he hadn't been fast enough in protecting them. He knew that would happen.

"Take that cup. Maybe we can use it to find out who did it. A print or DNA on it could be what we need."

"Want me to give it to Lance?"

Quentin Lance, Sara and Laurel's father, was an INTERPOL agent. Even when neither at moral nor professional level the man look with good eyes Oliver's or her daughters' association with the Bratva, he could be a good asset from time to time. And right now, as an outsider of the brotherhood, it looked like he was the person who could give him untainted information.

Sad to say that Oliver was trusting more in a sanctimonious cop than his own brothers.

"If he refuses, remind him his debt to me," Oliver advised Pabiyan. "Let him know that there's a bad seed among us. Make him understand that, if we don't stop him, Sara and even Laurel could be in danger too. That should be enough to get his acquiescence."

"Will do. "

The day that Quentin found out that Oliver had saved Sara, from a fate he didn't desire even to his worst enemy, was the day in which Lance vowed forever to be in Oliver's debt. Oliver never wanted to collect that. But the circumstances demanded it.

And Oliver might be paranoid thinking that everyone around him was in danger, but he couldn't shake the feeling that all what was happening had a lot to do with him. He would rather to sin being cautious in excess than to give the enemy a chance to catch them unaware.

After Oliver ended the call with Pabiyan, he was thinking to call Slade to get a report that nothing else had happened, when his phone rang showing his friend's name on the screen.

That couldn't be good.

And it wasn't.

"I don't know how they get to him, Oliver. They disabled the surveillance cameras and knock out the guards outside the cell."

"How's that possible?! Security system shouldn't be impenetrable?!"

"It should."

"And the guards? Are they reliable?"

 _Are you? Can I trust in you?_ , the thought ran across Oliver's mind, unable to stop it. The security system was the top of the top. Even Felicity would be impressed. He knew this, because he had heard Felicity complementing the known works of the guy who created it, once or twice. And if she was impressed, that meant the man was really good at what he did. The program was virtually unhackable, and the only way to override it was having access to it through a username and password. Oliver could count the number of people with access with only one hand.

And one of those people was Slade.

Oliver also has access, and therefore, he would have gotten an alert if someone from outside tried to get unauthorized access. He got none. The only conclusion was that the shut off of the cameras had been an inside job.

"Those are my trusted men, Oliver. They wouldn't have done it."

"Then who? The list of people that were in the building is short."

"What? Do you really think I fucking did it?!"

"Well, Slade, what else do you want me to think?! All I know is that, when I left, Frederik was alive, and now, two hours later, he's dead. You have access to disable the cameras; you say the guards, _your_ men, didn't do it. So what?! A ghost killed the man?!"

"Fuck you, Oliver. I won't deny I wish I was the one who send the bastard to hell, but I didn't. And I'm gonna prove it!"

Slade hung up, leaving Oliver wondering if he was overreacting or not. Slade sounded honestly offended at Oliver's suspicion, but the circumstantial evidence against him was strong.

Oliver resumed his walk back and forward, harnessing the seething anger inside him. The last twenty-four hours of his life had shattered his world. It made him feel like if he had nine years old again, afraid. Distant and wary of everybody else. Like if he was on an island, which surrounding waters were infected by vicious sharks. They were waiting for him to set a foot in the sea to attack.

He had battled for many years to feel connected again to those closest to him, and now, he was reversing to hell. Many had the perception of hell as a blazing place, crammed with sinners in eternal torment. For him, hell was isolation and coldness. It was when you were against the world, with no one on your side that you could trust, that could provide you a moment of comfort.

The worst was that he didn't even trust himself or his instinct anymore.

 **# # # # # # # # # #**

To have meetings in the wee hours of the morning was something that Sevastyan Krov wasn't fond of. Yet, he was at the _Millionny Bridge_ at four am. He heard someone approaching behind him. He didn't bother to turn around to know who it was. He recognized the heavy steps.

"Is it done?" Sevastyan asked to the approaching man.

"Yes. They're dead."

"Any complication?"

His accomplice turned his head, bored with him, "Not really. Nothing that I can't handle. I'm not an incompetent like you, Krov. You haven't been able to carry out your only job. Oliver Queen is still alive. When are you going to fix that?"

"I'm working on it! Killing the precious adopted son of the Pakhan isn't as easy as finish off a defenseless mother and son, or a defeated bastard in a cell."

"Drop the pathetic excuses and kill Queen now. Before he discovers your involvement in all this. Don't underestimate him. Have no doubt that he will find a way to get you, if you give him time enough."

"If that happens, then you'll go down with me."

"Let's get some things straight. One, your threats don't scare me. Two, if you get caught, you won't live long enough to tell anything. I guarantee you that. I let Voikevich sing, 'cause he knew nothing. Everything he said will mislead Oliver away from us. So you see, the dead of Oliver is no longer a mean for you to gain the power you crave, but to secure your own survival."

The man walked away, leaving Sevastyan with the retort stuck in his throat. He forced himself to swallow the bitter lump, know that the confrontation was far from over. He wasn't a plain pawn at the service of others. He was the one moving the pieces on the board. He was the one that would dethrone the king.

* * *

 **AN** : _While I was writing this chapter, I came up with an idea, but I'm not sure if I should do it. I was thinking in writing a few side stories, companion to this fic, telling past events that might not be of very much importance to the main story, but you'd like to know anyway. Like how Oliver saved Sara, or some moment when Oliver lived on the streets, or how Felicity got to Russia… you get the idea, right. So, I decided to make a little poll._

 _Tell me on the comments if you want me to write that. If you like, you can ask for an specific moment. I'm not promising anything, but you might got your wish granted._


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